


Simply Sex and Violence

by storytellerof221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Dark, Humiliation, Kidnapping, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Slave, Victim Sherlock, aftermath of abuse, bdsm on stage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:49:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22225921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storytellerof221b/pseuds/storytellerof221b
Summary: Sherlock has been kidnapped by a dark and perverted person, namely Dr John Watson, who is in need of a new sex-slave. He does many unspeakable things to Sherlock and brings him to his knees. How will Sherlock cope with all this during and after these horrible events? Who will come to the rescue? Who will be there for him afterwards?
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	1. Chapter One

Sherlock woke only very slowly. His head was close to bursting and it badly hurt. He tried to ease the pain by massaging his forehead and scalp; it had always helped in his younger years suffering from massive migraine attacks.  
At least he tried to ease the pain because somehow, he wasn't able to lift his hands. He pried his eyes open and blinked several times to chase the sleep away. His lids were totally gluey.  
“Oh dear, Sleeping Beauty has woken up!” A strong male voice stated. Sherlock turned his head towards the voice with his eyes slanted. There was a smallish but very muscular man standing close. He held himself straight, only his head was a bit tilted. He also had short, blond hair, and wore worn army fatigues and an olive-coloured combat shirt.  
“How...” Sherlock couldn't finish. The man stopped him by just holding up his finger.  
“Don't speak! You only speak when acknowledging my orders and using an honorific.” For just a second the upheld finger surprisingly stopped Sherlock from giving a scathingly reply. But then he recovered, forgetting all about his situation.  
“Your orders? You must be insane!” Sherlock blurted out. At the same time, he tried to move his legs. He desperately needed to get up. But his legs were tied down, too.  
“Well, well. First punishment so soon.” The blond smiled and looked even a bit amused. He pulled a small Moleskin out of his trousers and scribbled something into it. But it stopped Sherlock from saying more. Instead he just watched him.  
“I'll explain the rules now, shall I?” Sherlock didn't answer but kept looking. The man smirked.  
“You are mine. The first time I laid my eyes on you I knew, I had to have you. So, I ordered you. They took you. I bought you.” He exhaled excitedly.  
“These are no rules.” Sherlock stated.  
“No, this was the end of your former life. That's over, you see? Just to make you understand.” By now Sherlock had repeatedly pulled at his restraints. He found; he was bound to a wooden stretcher. His hands were tied together and a rope connected them to a hook over his head. His legs were slightly spread and tied to the stretcher, as well.  
“Let me go at once!” Sherlock angrily said. The man opened his notebook again and wrote something.  
“No, not going to happen!” He smiled and Sherlock swallowed feeling suddenly very, very cold.  
“As soon as you have understood the rules, my rules, it will all be just fine.” Now Sherlock glared. His feelings varied from fear to stubbornness and back.  
“You will follow my orders, all of them. Promptly. You are my pet, my chew-toy, my whore. You are whatever I want you to be.” Sherlock's eyes widened in terror.  
“I just love that expression you are making right now. I will see it more often in the near future, I believe.” He grinned.  
“I understood, you are still a virgin?” He asked and Sherlock simply nodded. By now he was absolutely scared. He also trembled like a frightened animal in the headlights.  
“Perfect! Now answer me properly and in a full sentence using an honorific.” The blond demanded.  
“Yes, I am still a virgin, Sir.” His voice was quiet and shaky. The blond very much enjoyed that. He sucked in his victim's fear, could almost feel the terror move over his skin, radiating off the pale, alabaster skin.  
“Not too bad. I was told, you were quite the smart one.” He walked closer and stopped reaching Sherlock's feet. He grabbed his left foot and pressed.  
Sherlock yelled out in pain twitching in his bonds. He bumped his head on the wood beneath him and sweat was beginning to cover his body.  
“This was punishment. But theoretically there can be rewards, too.” He pressed again and this time Sherlock let out a low groan. His groin ached and to his utter embarrassment his cock grew quite a bit.  
“Now this pleases me a lot! Well done, slut!” Sherlock pulled at the ropes some more. It took him some strength to lift his head up. His eyes were focused on the blond.  
“I am not your slut! I never will be!” He hissed. The blond came closer and moved his fingers very slowly over his chest.  
“That's what they always say at the beginning.” He quietly laughed scratching his fingernails over Sherlock's pale, hairless chest. And brutally pinched a nipple making Sherlock scream in pain.  
“I think, I will give you a special treatment real soon.” The man turned around and left his vision. Sherlock breathed heavily. He had no idea how he got here, how he had been taken or where he was. He wasn't able to remember anything.  
The only thing he knew right now was, he was scared to death. Extremely so.

And this tormented him quite a lot, this feeling was so alien. He had never been that scared. Not even back in school when being manhandled inside the locker-room.  
But this? This was serious. He was tied up. This man was insane and he wanted to hurt him, torture him, and probably rape him.  
Sherlock swallowed. He needed to hold out, wait for help. He, Sherlock bloody Holmes, needed to wait to being rescued. Where was his bloody brother now? What about CCTV? How...?  
His thoughts felt like being glued to a merry-go-round and he wasn't able to sort them correctly inside his Mind-palace. He needed to come down. Soon.  
And come down he did. For two seconds he closed his eyes and calmed his mind. He had to survive. He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. He concentrated back on the present.  
The present in which this ex-soldier, obviously by his whole appearance, was about to rape him, torture him, force him to do unspeakable things. Things Sherlock had only heard of due to some cases he had solved for DI Lestrade, his only friend at Scotland Yard.  
Again, he tore at the bindings holding him down and spread open. He was freezing and his erection had already gone poof again.  
Of course, Sherlock didn't manage to free himself. The only things he got were some chafed off skin and rope burns. He swallowed and almost cried but didn't want to. The blond would like it only too much. And then he would make him cry all the time.

***

The blond watched his newest possession over the life-feed. This would work out splendidly. He hardly could wait to start on him.  
This one probably was a fighter. He was absurdly beautiful. And he was a fucking virgin. John didn't believe it when he was told. The price he had paid was exorbitant. But he had done some research himself and found everything true, he had been told before.  
And he paid the amount wanted. The man had been delivered two hours later with not a single scratch on him. John was excited. He needed someone to play with. No, he actually needed a slave. He wanted a slave, a bed-slave. He also wanted a sex-toy and a house-boy. He would find out soon enough, if the man was able to fulfil these duties.  
He knew, he would have to force him down, hit him, spread his mouth wide open. He rubbed his cock through his pants. His erection was obvious, the bulge almost obscene. He sighed happily.  
He turned away from the screen and collected a few things. He put everything on a tray and carried it back to his chew-toy.  
He strategically placed the tray, so Sherlock wasn't able to see what was on it. Of course, he tried to do so. The man smirked.  
“You soon will find out, promise!” He said cheerily.  
“Let me go! This is insane!” Sherlock tried it again.  
“I let you go, but not far. It might be considered insane, but it depends on whom you are asking.” He smirked.  
“I will get the rope off that holds your hands over your head. Just don't fight; you can do that later to amuse me, you know? Right now, you are too weak anyway. You will only get hurt. So just let me do what I want for now.” He cut the rope and at once Sherlock groaned. His arms were burning. Carefully he lowered them. The man watched and tilted his head.  
“Sit up for me!” He ordered and Sherlock pulled himself up. He swayed a bit from left to right but managed.  
“Good boy!” The man fondly petted his back and Sherlock promptly shied away. The blond smirked some more.  
“This is going to be so much fun!” He murmured.  
He cut off the rope around Sherlock's ankles, too, and made him stand. He was taller than him, but it didn't matter. The smaller man held all the power.  
“Kneel!” The blond suddenly barked. Sherlock swallowed, stared at the wall, and straightened his long legs. Forgotten were his plans to survive by doing everything the man wanted, demanded him to do.  
Quickly the blond stepped behind his slim body, hooked his arm around his elbows holding them tight, and the other fisted into his mop of dark curls. He brutally pulled making Sherlock scream. His scalp was on fire and tears filled his eyes.  
“I gave you an order! I told you to kneel!” He yelled close to his face. Sherlock wobbled and dropped to his knees. He groaned when his bare, bony, knees hit the floor. He wanted to sit on his heels, but the man pulled him up straight by strands of his hair.  
“Stay. I need to prepare you for later.” Sherlock shivered. He was feeling sick. The man let go of his arms but quickly placed a pair of handcuffs on his wrists. Sherlock knew about handcuffs since he had been arrested multiple times in the past because of his drug-abuse and such.  
Sherlock's eyes opened wide when the blond dangled a collar before his eyes. Quickly it got placed around his neck and buckled tight. Sherlock heard the closing of a lock, so it wouldn't come off easily again. He swallowed feeling the restricting item around his neck. Next the man stood behind him.  
“Open up, bitch!” Another order.  
“I am not your bi...” A big ball-gag was forced behind his teeth and held his mouth wide open. A gurgling sound followed making the man laugh.  
“This happens when you talk back. No, it might even happen at any other given time.” He roughly laughed. The gag was buckled tightly, too. His jaw was forced open and the gag wasn't made for beginners. The leather strap bit into his tender skin and it soon began to hurt. Sherlock felt saliva running down his chin. He had lost control. He willed himself not to cry. It wouldn't do him any good or help him at all.  
His head and shoulders hung down low and he hadn't even tried to fight off either the collar nor the gag or even the handcuffs. Sherlock closed his eyes being very much ashamed of himself. What was happening to him?  
“Spread your legs!” Sherlock simply obeyed when the blond barked out his next order. He needed to gather some strength.  
“Nicely done.” The blond moved behind and around him.  
“Now lower your body; meaning arse up and forehead on the ground.”  
Sherlock had always been his body's master; it was just transport anyway. Or so he had been thinking.  
A strong hand clawed into the flesh of his plush behind.  
“You are too thin. I can count your ribs. But you are something to look at. Very beautiful. My beautiful.” Sherlock drooled on the floor.  
“I have noted a punishment earlier. I will now administer three strokes with the riding crop. Don't move. Just take it. If you crawl away, there will be more.” Sherlock closed his eyes.  
The blond hit once and Sherlock thought his skin might burst open. He screamed behind the ball-gag. Tears spilled and he heavily drooled. He could hear the man laugh. Again, the riding crop hit his behind. Sherlock gurgled and sobbed. Snot ran down over his lips and chin.  
He wasn't able to master his body. The pain was crucial and he couldn't stop the tears from falling or the almost hysteric sobbing. It was horrible. The beating was and so were his reactions. The input his brain had to manage was too much and he felt dizzy.  
“And the last one!” The blond loudly exclaimed and hit him between arse and thigh where it hurt the most. Sherlock's eyes were closed tight and his whole body was tense. His naked body, Sherlock realised. Again and again. He felt absolutely helpless.  
But he was strongly holding on and he tried not to follow his instincts and move away from the pain. He mustn't anger this brutal ex-soldier. He somehow had to keep himself alive.  
“Well done, bitch!” The man praised, and strangely, Sherlock relaxed.  
“Hold still!” The man ordered. Sherlock heard him open a bottle and it became cold between his arse-cheeks. Again, he closed his eyes. He felt humiliated. It was a feeling he had always believed; he could not have.  
“Answer me, have you ever had anything inside your tight behind?” Sherlock shook his head and made a suitable noise.  
“Wonderful!” Then the blond unceremoniously shoved a strong finger into Sherlock's hole. Sherlock's forehead hit the floor and he loudly yelled. Out came only muffled noises. He also started to cry again. The finger stuck all the way in.  
“You are so damn tight! This is just wonderful! A virgin of your age! I am such a lucky man!” He moved his finger in and out.  
Sherlock's body shook. The pain was gruesome; it hurt badly. His anus burnt and felt torn.  
Suddenly the stretch was gone and Sherlock panted around the too big ball-gag. But the finger soon got replaced with something else. An unfamiliar object was pushed inside. Cold rubber. Silicone? It stretched him some more but did not move. It wasn't that bad compared to the wildly pushing finger, or so he thought.  
“Get up!” The man fisted into some strands of his hair and pulled him up on his knees. Sherlock swayed and closed his eyes.  
“No!” A flat hand hit his face and he tore his eyes open. The ball-gag was removed and Sherlock's jaw cracked. The ball-gag quickly got replaced by a ring-gag. Sherlock could breathe easier like this, but expected something horrible coming up. And right he was. The man opened his fly and greedily looked at him.  
“I don't trust you yet not to bite me. By time you will know how to do it properly. For now, this will suffice.” Sherlock's eyes were fixed on his huge cock. He moved away. Well, he tried.  
The hand was back in his hair and held tight.  
“Just use your tongue and hold still.” The blond shoved his cock only partly through the ring and pushed a bit. He was too thick. Sherlock choked and gurgled anyway. He felt like throwing up and his head moved from side to side. Sherlock was panicking and the noises he made turned John on so much. As were the tears spilling freely. He needed to make him cry some more. Many more times.  
Sherlock's behind hurt. His insides were in pain. He swayed back and forth. Sherlock had lost control over his transport. His eyes were half closed and unfocused. He also made some sort of wailing noise; the blond couldn't remember having heard something similar before from any of his sex-slaves.  
The man watched closely. He didn't want to lose him so soon; he had been too expensive.  
“This won't do.” He pulled back out and removed the ring-gag. Then he backhanded Sherlock several times until his face was burning hot, red, and swollen. He slowly fell to the side.  
“This shall teach you.” He hooked his finger through a d-ring at Sherlock's collar and pulled the slim body to a wall where he connected his collar to it. His wrists got shackled to it, too. Sherlock couldn't rest, stand, or even lay down. He could just cower half way up. Another gag was shoved into his mouth, also a blindfold was applied. A single hand slapped his penis. Hard.  
“And I will teach you!” The man threateningly whispered close to Sherlock's ear.


	2. Chapter Two

Sherlock spent the night in agony. He was in pain. He also was thirsty and hungry. But the man was gone and he had some control back over his transport. Also, the panic had subsided.  
His mind was miles away. But without the ability to watch his surroundings, too see his capturer, he was lost.  
The only thing he knew was not to collapse because he would strangle himself.

***

The next morning the blond planned his next approach. Sherlock would be nicely open due to the plug he wore. But the man wanted more. He wanted obedience. Servitude. Submission.  
He also hoped for a little accident to have happened. His new whore had been his for almost 20 hours and hadn't been allowed to use the toilet. John very much hoped he had pissed on the floor. He would make him lick it clean, he sure would.  
He was obscenely hard when moving up to his new boy-toy. He found him slumped against the wall and it stank of urine.  
Sherlock was breathing hard, so John took off the gag but closed his nostrils instead.  
"You made a mess, boy. And you have to clean up your mess." He unhooked his collar from the wall and pressed his nose into the puddle. Sherlock pressed his lips together.  
"Lick it clean, bitch!" The man yelled and trashed Sherlock's head onto the concrete ground. Sherlock screamed and his nose started to bleed.  
"Please, no..." He tried to beg and it made the blond laugh.  
"I can make this even harder. Your decision alone, slut." He roughly whispered the words shaking Sherlock's head from left to right and back. And he only let go when he saw his tongue.   
He stayed where he was and gave a dangerous growl. Sherlock slowly lowered his head and started to lick. Above him John triumphantly grinned and palmed his cock.  
Sherlock moved over the concrete and licked. He supressed the urge to vomit because the very much feared the consequence. And he moved and licked until the blond tore his head up again.  
"Yes, I thought so, bitch. Now, if you bite me, just fear the consequences.” He threatened. He shoved his thick cock inside and started to face-fuck him.  
Sherlock knew how to protect himself. But this new experience was so ugly, he choked up some bile. The man just pushed deeper. He wanted him to lose control; he wanted him to fail.  
“If you throw up on me, I will brand you, I will mark you, I will just torture you. But firstly I will make you eat it up the ground.” Very quietly spoken, Sherlock opened up wide and concentrated. And he managed. He felt the man's dick grow inside his mouth and he wondered, if he'd die with it inside his behind.  
The darkness was a mercy.

***

John watched the naked man on the ground and smirked. He grabbed him and threw the thin body over his shoulder and brought him upstairs into his living-room. He bent a bit and then simply dropped him on a tiger rug. Sherlock groaned and slowly came to feeling the warmth and fur beneath him. He realised, he was on the floor in some sort of living-room, or was it a bedroom, and the man was by his side. He radiated anger and aggression. Sherlock hunched his shoulders.  
“Assume position, bitch!” Harshly voiced, Sherlock obeyed getting up his arse, hands folded on his nape, and forehead on the ground. He wasn't stupid, was he?  
“Very good, indeed.” Then he felt the plug being rudely removed. It made him groan.  
“You see, I am fed up with waiting, training, and such boring things. If you fight, you will suffer. If you behave, you'll get rewarded. Simply act properly.” Sherlock felt hands spreading his cheeks. The man forced his thick cock into him. Sherlock screamed and screamed. His hands hit the furry thing beneath him and he scrambled about half a metre pushing it away. His fingernails scratched over the hardwood and all the time he screamed and screamed. The blond's laughter was invading his brain while he fought.  
He desperately tried to claw into something, to get a hold on something. He tried to push himself away from the blond, tried to shake him off.  
The man just took his thin wrists and held them on his lower back. Sherlock wildly twisted his body, but wasn't able to escape the iron grip. All the time his tears kept blinding him and he kept sobbing and wailing. Snot and saliva kept running in streams over his face.  
The blond held him tight. He was extremely turned on by the sight beneath him.  
He wildly forced himself inside until he fully stuck.  
“Yes!” He hissed and kept moving. After a few seconds he used one hand to fist into his hair and force his head up. There wasn't any lube or even a condom. Sherlock sobbed, he wasn't able to stop crying and wailing. He even begged. But to no avail; the man showed no mercy.  
John fucked him bloody and there was no pleasure at all for poor Sherlock.  
The moment John shot his cum into the crying, sobbing man beneath him, he tore some hair out. Sherlock yelled and passed out.  
The blond fell down on Sherlock breathing hard.

***

Slowly he got up and pulled out. He looked down. There was loads of cum mixed with blood.  
“Slut?” The man asked, but got no answer. He shrugged and just left him behind. But at first he put some handcuffs on him forcing his hands behind his back.  
He showered and enjoyed the pictures of the male virgin being burnt inside his head.  
This man had been worth every single pound. He smirked into the mirror. Indeed, everything had turned out beautifully.  
He towelled himself dry and dressed into a pair of denims and a tight shirt. His muscles were on perfect display. His strong forearms were covered in dark veins and blond hair. He returned to his new chew-toy who had started to twitch. He also moaned quietly. John stood over him and stared down waiting for Sherlock to wake up. He had some more to explain to him.  
Slowly Sherlock blinked his eyes open. Soon enough he focused on John. His quicksilver eyes opened wide in terror. Just by instinct his body moved away from John's towering and threatening figure. The handcuffs scraped over the hardwood.  
“Stay!” John ordered and Sherlock froze. John grinned.  
“So, I took your virginity. You are my bitch.” Sherlock didn't utter a word. How had he gotten into this nightmare? He couldn't remember at all.  
“You may talk. Anything. Let me hear your voice. Sit up and speak. Go on, my pretty boy, my beautiful.” John reached out and almost gently pulled at a strand of Sherlock's dark and by now sweaty, longish locks.  
Sherlock took it as the threat it was. He nodded and John let go. Sherlock sat up very carefully and pulled a face when feeling the cum dripping out of his arsehole and running over the back of his thighs. Then he cleared his throat.  
“Why are you doing this to me?” He dared looking up at John who now widened his stance.  
That voice was so wonderful. Perhaps John would make him read to him sitting at his feet. He would need to buy a footstool or something similar. John had fantasies regarding this man he never had before.  
“I saw you at Bart's hospital. I wanted you to be mine and mine alone. So, I told someone very special to help me. He arranged you being taken. I bought you. So, now you are mine.”  
“I asked not for your actions. I asked why you have done this to me.”  
“Again with the back-talk.” John shook his head.  
"I like doing these things, bitch!" He yelled and suddenly just backhanded him with full force. Sherlock's head flew to the side and he was brought down since his hands were still cuffed behind his back. The metal dug into his tender flesh and the pain of both this and his face was cruel.  
“Anyway. You are so beautiful. You are so sexy. I was attracted to you.” Sherlock did not utter a single word.  
“You should be honoured, you know that, my prince, don't you?” Still no reply.  
“Anyway, I am going to break you. Very slowly. And I will enjoy this immensely. And if you do as I tell you and behave like the good boy, I know you are, there might be an orgasm in for you.” Again, John grinned. It looked feral.


	3. Chapter Three

Sherlock could not tear his gaze away from John's feral expression. He swallowed. His throat hurt and was dry.  
“What do you want me to do?” Sherlock asked hoarsely.  
“As I have told you before; simply follow my orders, obey me, do what I want, be my bitch.” Sherlock looked at him. He nodded after only a few seconds.  
“I will do just so.” John raised a brow.  
“What, no fighting at all? You are disappointing me!”  
“If I fight you, you will hurt me.” Sherlock replied.  
“Yes, of course! That's my pleasure!” They looked at each other. And suddenly John threw himself on top of him. Sherlock huffed and tensed but made it in time moving his body so he didn't fall on his cuffed hands.  
John lay on top of his new play-thing's back. He fisted into his hair and turned his head far to the side and upwards, so their noses were almost touching. For a few seconds John just stared.  
He finally pressed his lips on Sherlock's and used his tongue to force his mouth open. He wildly used his tongue to explore the gum, the teeth, the whole mouth. Sherlock simply gave in and fled into his mind-palace.  
John just pressed the iron cuffs closed and elicited a scream full of pain and hurt. He also made his wrists bleed.  
“No, slut! You don't dream away while I am fucking you into your tight hole.” He bit into Sherlock's neck and shoulder drawing blood. Sherlock groaned loudly.  
“Please...” Sherlock begged and John just laughed.  
“Spread your fucking legs!” He ordered and licked once over Sherlock's throat.  
Sherlock did as being told. He slowly spread his long legs. He again felt cold and shivered. John was reminded of a very scared horse and he smiled.  
Single handed John opened his trousers and pulled out his erect cock. He already leaked and his prick was still growing to its impressing thickness.  
“You may fight. I like it when they fight!” John grinned. He shoved his arms under Sherlock's legs and pushed them up pressing his full weight on top of Sherlock's chest.  
“No!” Sherlock yelled and desperately tried to shove him off. Again of course to no avail; he was way too weak and exhausted from before. Plus, the pain pulsing through his wrists and arms was weakening him.  
John just pushed into him again. Sherlock paled extremely and screamed horribly. He even started wailing in long, high tones.  
John just stared at him getting even harder inside him.  
“God, please! Don't! Let me up! Stop! Nooooooo!” Sherlock sobbed and begged broken voiced. John was panting above him. He wildly pushed inside eliciting a loud screaming noise mixed with panting, sobbing and loads of tears.  
John pulled out and threw his fuck-toy on his front. He raised a brow seeing the blood and the extreme tight cuffs. He swore inside his mind and fished for the keys inside his denims. If he wanted to keep this one as a house-boy, he would need both hands, wouldn't he? He quickly got rid of the handcuffs and threw them to the side. Sherlock didn't even register, that his arms were free again. There was no strength left and they fell to the side being of no use.  
“Don't be boring, bitch!” John shouted and strongly tore his hair. But there was no reaction. John needed to see his face and wildly pulled him back around to look into his eyes again.  
Suddenly Sherlock used his fingers to scratch over John's skin. He even tried to pull at his short hair.  
John just laughed and batted his hands away.  
“Finally!” He loudly laughed and continued fucking into Sherlock with wild abandon. Sweat was glistening all over Sherlock's body.  
Sherlock tried again to hit him, tried to free his legs, kick him, and even bucked up trying to throw him off.  
But John stayed on top and kept fucking into him.  
“Yes, go on and fight! This is splendid! Come on!” John whispered roughly. Sherlock bit his full lip and kept fighting. John bit into his throat, pinched Sherlock's nipples and finally placed a feral bite on the place where neck met shoulder.  
Sherlock yelled out his pain and blood flooded out of the wound. John shook his head to widen the wound. Sherlock gave up and his body went slack. The very same moment John orgasmed. He threw up his head and groaned loudly.  
Sherlock felt his cock pulse and the cum flooding into him. He closed his eyes and passed out. Again.


	4. Chapter Four

“Wake up, my beautiful!” John spoke into Sherlock's ear. Well, actually he did not speak but yelled. Sherlock's head shot up and he needed a few seconds to adjust.  
When he did, he again paled and pressed his body against the wall behind him. And suddenly he realised, he was in a bed. He also realised; he had been cleaned. It smelled a bit like disinfectant and soap. And he was glad, he had been given this mercy.  
He knew, he had been bleeding, and he carefully tried to find out if his transport was damaged.  
“Yes, slut, I have been nice to you. I took care of you and brought you into my bed. Now let me know, aren't I nice, hm?” He tilted his head and looked at Sherlock.  
Out of red rimmed eyes Sherlock looked up at him. He cleared his throat and just tried.  
“Yes, Sir, you have been good to me. Nice and good. Thank you, Sir, for taking care of me.” Sherlock had no idea how this sort of ownership worked. He had never bothered to read the whole file, the psychological aspect of those cases. He just solved them, for God's sake.  
John really looked surprised. And then he simply grinned and reached out. His palm moved over Sherlock's head and cheek.  
“You are willing, I knew it. Perhaps you even like it. You want to please me and it worked. So, I will give you a reward. I have promised you yesterday and I do keep my promises.”  
Sherlock actually didn't want a reward. He didn't want that man to touch him or shove something into him. But he had no choice but to thank him. And thank him he did.  
“Thank you, Sir.” John straightened his body and gave Sherlock's body a once-over.  
“Get out of bed and lean against the post.” Sherlock slowly rolled out of bed and did as being told. Stark naked he started to freeze quickly and shivered. His genitals were trying to hide and John smirked staring between his legs.  
Sherlock pressed back against the wooden post and watched John while he collected some ropes. Sherlock swallowed. He had been promised a reward. What was he doing?  
John didn't need long to tie Sherlock's body to the post. His wrists were tied behind his back and then to the post. A long rope was slung over his shoulders and below and above his chest as well as around the post.  
Sherlock stared at John while John stared back. Head tilted John's eyes moved over Sherlock's body. Finally, he nodded and turned around. He opened a drawer and picked up several articles. Sherlock wasn't able to see but expected pain. He really didn't believe him, didn't expect a reward at all.  
“Don't look at me like that. This really will turn out to be a reward. Just show some patience, will you?” John raised a brow and the mood darkened.  
“Yes, Sir. Forgive me, please, Sir.” Sherlock replied and John just nodded. He stepped up and licked over Sherlock's nipple. Sherlock's head hit the post because this wasn't what he had expected and he groaned. But then he realised, it felt nice. Very nice, indeed. He relaxed and stared over John's head. He accepted the pleasure he was given and finally gave in.  
John sucked and licked until his nipple was hard and sensible. Only then he attached a clamp. Sherlock sharply inhaled, but it wasn't too bad.  
John repeated his actions on the other nipple and Sherlock started to shift on his feet feeling something stir inside. John looked up and into his eyes and he smirked knowingly. Sherlock deeply blushed and lowered his gaze. John quietly laughed.  
He slowly moved his palms over Sherlock's chest and stomach until he felt him stop shivering. One hand stayed on his hip, the other was lifted up to his face.  
“Make it wet. It's for your own good, my pretty.” He roughly said. Sherlock swallowed and opened his mouth. He carefully leaned forward and licked over John's palm. He repeated his actions until John deemed it wet enough. He then just took his cock into his hand.  
Sherlock's head bumped back against the post again and he closed his eyes groaning. John moved his hand up and down over Sherlock's prick, always giving a light pressure, until he felt him move in sync. He smirked and kept watching.  
A few minutes later Sherlock was sweating and his hair clung to his face all wet. By now he was even looking at John with a pleading expression on his beautiful face.  
“You know what I want, princess.” He kept moving and so did Sherlock. Without stopping his movements, he rubbed his thumb over the head of Sherlock's cock.  
“Oh, oh, oh God … I can't … This is … You are … What are you ...” Sherlock panted and moaned. His prick was long and thick and John admired the view in his hand.  
“So pretty, so beautiful, and all just for me, my pretty boy.” John whispered.  
“Please, Sir. Do something. Whatever. I don't know … Just please, Sir?” Pleadingly he looked at John swallowing. Tears spilled freely again and he sobbed while snot ran over his face. He was helpless. He hated himself. He didn't want this, did he? But it felt so good. Too good. His transportwas betraying him. He never thought that possible. He had lost control. And God, he needed more!  
John became rock hard again. This was much better than expected. And he started to do things.  
At the same time, he pulled both Sherlock's cock and one clamp. Sherlock let out a sound John wanted to have as a ring-tone. He repeatedly did it and the noises Sherlock let out were just fantastic. John crept closer and licked over his pulse-point. Sherlock didn't even twitch or tried to move away. He was pressed against the post and his hips were tilted towards John.  
“Now look at yourself, slut.” John ordered and Sherlock looked down. His prick stood all the way up and leaked. He hadn't seen that in a long while.  
“What are you doing to me?” Sherlock roughly whispered.  
“I am giving you a reward. I will make you like me. I will make you like it. I will make you like what I do to you. Whatever I'll do, you'll like it.” John quietly replied.  
Both men were staring at Sherlock's cock, until John took it between his fingers again. Sherlock couldn't help but jerk back and his head bumped against the post.  
“Well, I do want this to last, princess.” Again, he just looked Sherlock over and finally his eyes were fixed on Sherlock's face. He locked eyes with him and Sherlock wasn't able to look away or even lower his gaze.  
“Have you ever heard about edging?” John asked and Sherlock shook his head.  
“No, Sir, I haven't.” He roughly whispered.  
“Hm, I'll leave that for another day since I promised a reward. So shall it be.” John took another item and knelt in front of Sherlock. Cuffs came around his ankles and got connected with an iron spreader-bar. John made him stand with his legs widely spread.  
And when he stood again his knees cracked. He walked back to the drawer and rummaged through loads of stuff. Sherlock wasn't able to see a thing.  
Finally, John returned with a leather blindfold.  
“As much as I like your colour-changing eyes, pretty boy, you shall enjoy this more when being blindfolded.” And Sherlock relaxed into the darkness. He concentrated on his violin and beautiful music. It worked for a bit until John started to suck his cock. Sherlock threw his head back and bumped hard against the wooden post. His mouth stood open and he breathed fast and rough. He sure would get a headache, if he kept bumping his head against the post. Where was his transport-control? What was happening to him?  
John's tongue slid over and round his prick and then he just suckled the head like one would suckle ice-cream. Sherlock's intestines curled into themselves and knotted. His balls pulled up and seemed close to bursting. His cock was leaking copious amounts of precum.  
And suddenly John just stopped.  
“I can't hear you, bitch. What can't I hear you thanking me?” It sounded rather annoyed and Sherlock quickly returned from his daydream.  
“I am sorry, Sir. I was simply enjoying your administrations, Sir.” Sherlock swallowed being not sure, if this had been the appropriate answer.  
John once flicked each nipple and Sherlock loudly groaned. At the same time the pain seemed to be wired directly to his cock. Sherlock was able to feel the twitch it made. He also heard John's giggle. It sounded rather insane.  
“Tell me, did you like that? Did you enjoy the little pain I inflicted?” John asked.  
“Yes, Sir, I did enjoy it very much. Thank you, Sir.” Sherlock dutifully replied.  
“I shall continue then, right, slut?” John said.  
“Please do so, Sir.” Sherlock answered.  
What else could he have said anyway?

***

John knelt in front of Sherlock and took his prick between his short, strong fingers. He leant forward and licked over the head. Sherlock's breathing was audible already.  
Next, he pressed his tongue into the slit and swirled around the head. When Sherlock didn't utter a word, John used his teeth once eliciting a proper yelling.  
“I want your comments, slut. Let me hear you. Be creative, bitch!” John ripped the blindfold off again. Sherlock opened his eyes and swallowed. He looked down at John whose mouth was open and close to his cock again. Sherlock cleared his throat.  
“Please touch my penis again, Sir. The feeling is great. What you are doing to me, it is fantastic, Sir. I never had these feelings before.” He needed to breathe and John started to slowly lick around the head. Sherlock groaned and trembled.  
“Sir, please. I need more, Sir. A bit harder for me, please, Sir?” Sherlock started to beg. John chuckled and sucked using more pressure. He sucked in the whole cock with enough force to make Sherlock wobble. If he wouldn't be tied to the post, he would have fallen to the ground.  
John sucked and licked faster and faster and then suddenly stopped.  
“No! Sir, don't stop! Just please? Sir? Please?” He sobbed out the words and his prick throbbed.  
“Beg for my finger inside your greedy hole, slut!” John ordered and the order silenced Sherlock for a few seconds. John kept suckling and also started to rub over his perineum.  
Sherlock moaned rather wantonly and finally straightened his slim body.  
“Please, Sir, stick your finger into my still too tight hole. I am begging you, Sir.” Sherlock once sobbed, and it was because of both being humiliated and pleasured.  
John quietly laughed. His finger circled Sherlock's opening which was still wet. Sherlock tried to relax but was too conflicted since he was both heavily aroused and scared to death.  
Then there was a tongue on his testicles, changing sides all the time. It distracted Sherlock and John pushed into him. Again, it was the pain combined with pleasure and lust that made it.  
Sherlock panted wildly and John had to hold him back against the post to prevent being face-fucked. Sherlock's cock twitched and then he suddenly came into John's mouth while John's finger kept rubbing over his prostate.  
Sherlock had no idea what was happening to him. His prick kept twitching like a hose. Pleasure washed over him like a waterfall and the noises he made were already getting weak. But all the time he kept begging. And suddenly he enjoyed the finger, enjoyed the situation.  
Realising his reaction, he screamed out in frustration while John extended his orgasm until he sagged in his bindings.

***

John stood and again his bones cracked. He once belched and had to grin.  
“I really need to feed him up. And if I have to force-feed him, I will do it. Nasty business though. Anyway, he will remember this.” John smirked and got him off the post. Instead he put cuffs on his ankles and wrists. He didn't connect them though.  
He carried the lightweight into a separate room and dropped him on a bare mattress on the ground. He also brought some water and two sandwiches and then locked the door from the outside.  
John showered and went to bed with a bottle of red wine. He kept thinking about Sherlock. He had been very expensive. And he had really been a virgin. John wondered for how long he would last until he exaggerated again.  
John sighed and promised himself to be more careful this time. At least until the house had been cleaned properly and the washing had been done.


	5. Chapter Five

Sherlock woke because he needed to pee and was rather hungry, too. He blinked his eyes open and carefully looked around. He relaxed a bit because he was all by himself.  
Slowly he sat up and found he was still naked. He gingerly touched his nipples. They felt rather sore but it was good sore, not bad sore. Then he remembered what the man, John, had done to him.  
He had to close his eyes leaning against the wall. He shivered. His brain told him, that he had had no choice but react the way he had. There was no mind over matter here. His transport had simply betrayed him.  
Only then he saw the cuffs around his ankles and wrists. They had no locks but Sherlock didn't dare taking them off. He knew the punishment would be horrible.  
He got up very slowly and looked around. There was no bucket he could have used, but finally he saw something that resembled a door but was set lower into the wall. He crouched down and used his hands to feel around. Finally, a pressure with his fingertips created a soft click and the hidden door slid to the side.  
Sherlock listened but could hear nothing. He stuck his head through. There were tiles on both the ground and the walls. White, bright tiles. There also was a toilet, a shower-stall, and a sink. He wondered, if he was allowed to use this. But the blond wasn't here. He couldn't ask him, could he?  
Suddenly his voice boomed out of some hidden loudspeaker.  
“Very good, bitch! You have found the bath. Now you do wonder about being allowed to use it, don't you?” Sherlock looked for the speaker or the camera but wasn't able to locate them. That shouldn't be the case. He was good with these things, very good. Probably there were drugs used on him. Sherlock didn't think about having a trauma or some such thing. The idea just didn't come up to him. Trauma didn't happen to Sherlock Holmes.  
By now he had also learned to acknowledge the man's orders or questions.  
“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock said with his head down.  
“Very well. Ask what you need to ask, princess.” The voice was calmer now. Sherlock swallowed down his pride.  
“Please, Sir, I need the loo. May I please use the facilities, Sir?” Sherlock asked.  
“You are a quick learner. Very good, my pretty, very much so.” A hidden panel slid to the side and a metal tray was shoved through. Sherlock looked at it, but didn't move to simply take it.  
“There is toilet-paper, a tooth-brush, tooth-paste, as well as a wash-cloth, some towels, shampoo, and shower-gel. For your skin there is body-lotion. Clean yourself properly. I will see to your behind personally. I assume, it must still burn and hurt and you will be needing an ointment. Now go!” The last order was barked into the tiled, sterile room and Sherlock hurried to take the tray and start the proceedings. But at first he thanked him.

***

Sherlock felt much better after a shower. He towelled his hair and then looked at the tangled hair of his. There was no comb or brush. He tried to use his long fingers, but it didn't work. He quietly sighed. The blond wouldn't be pleased with his appearance.  
He used body-lotion to smell better. He had used the wash-cloth to clean his behind as good as he could. He already feared the man's inspection and wondered what was happening next. Not that he could stop that; or even fight him.  
Suddenly the door slid to the side and Sherlock quickly turned expecting John to stand there. But he wasn't. Instead he talked over the speaker again.  
“Leave the room and come upstairs. Follow the stairs and enter the room opposite. Kneel straight up by the armchair facing the fire-place. Your hands go folded on your nape. Your eyes are on the hardwood. Your legs are spread open. Understood?” John asked.  
“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock left the room.  
John watched his slave on the display. He tilted his head and licked his lips when Sherlock folded his lanky body down on his knees. His hands came up and his fingers entwined over his nape. He spread his long legs and his muscles from behind looked just splendid, as did the welts and other injuries.  
His whole body was finely shaped even though he was so thin. His head was lowered and he stared at the hardwood. His hair was a mess, just as John had hoped.  
He picked up a comb and a brush and left the surveillance-room. Slowly he walked up to his sex-slave and watched him freeze in anticipation.  
“You smell fresh and clean, my pretty boy. But your hair is a mess.” John grinned. Sherlock swallowed.  
“I am sorry, Sir. But my fingers weren't enough to comb it properly. Please forgive me, Sir.” Sherlock had clearly learned a lot.  
“Never mind, slut. I brought the necessary items. So just lower your arms and hold them on your back.” John ordered. Sherlock obeyed instantly. John hooked the cuffs together and Sherlock's arms were held over his lower back.  
“Head up!” Another order that was easy to follow. Sherlock relaxed again. The man stepped up close behind him and took a strand of his curly hair. Then he started to comb through it. All the time he was whistling some tune.  
Sherlock felt the man's body-warmth. Soon enough he also felt the man's huge erection poking into his body. He managed to stay still and didn't even twitch. Above him John smirked.  
“You have wonderful hair, slut. Very beautiful. You will let it grow for me, won't you, bitch?” John asked changing from comb to brush.  
“Thank you, Sir. I will gladly let it grow for you, if you so desire, Sir.” Sherlock really hoped he wasn't going too far with his choice of words, but he heard the man chuckle.  
John placed his palm flat on Sherlock's head and moved the brush through his hair. It was rather nice and Sherlock started to sway back and forth. His mind was busy searching for a way to escape.  
He was brutally woken when John hit him full force on his arse-cheek using the flat side of the brush. Sherlock screamed and his backside hurt.  
“I can see when you do that, you fucking brat! I believe, you are in need of a severe lesson!” John yelled into his ear.  
At once tears filled Sherlock's eyes.  
“Please, I didn't mean to! But what you did, it felt so good. I am so thankful, I really am, Sir. Please don't punish me, Sir. Please? Sir?” Sherlock sobbed, but John knew no mercy. Plus, it was simply a good reason to punish him.  
John grinned and hooked a leash into Sherlock's collar.  
“Get up!” He ordered and Sherlock stood on shaking legs looking pleadingly at John. But he just pulled him along until he opened another door. Sherlock froze on the spot upon seeing some sort of medieval torture-chamber.  
“Please ...” He once sobbed and couldn't hold back. John roughly tore at the leash making Sherlock stumble closer to him.  
“Shut up!” John shouted. Sherlock panted and his eyes darted around in terror.  
John led him over to a metal construction and forced him down on his knees. His cuffed wrists hung over a pole that sat under his arms and made the position very uncomfortable. A spreader-bar came between his thighs.  
“This will teach you not to dream away while I am fully concentrating on you, being so nice and kind to you!” John threatened. His tight shirt showed sweaty stains and the bulge inside his trousers was obvious, so was the wet spot. He was very much aroused.  
“Please, I am so sorry, Sir! I promise to be better for you, Sir!” Sherlock begged but was brutally stopped when John shoved a bit-gag behind his teeth and connected the leather-straps of a harness around and over his head and face.  
Sherlock gurgled and mumbled out more pleas, but John just laughed. It sounded mean.  
Out of wide eyes Sherlock watched John when he picked something off a table and returned.  
“This is a cattle-prod, my dear. It hurts like fuck, but doesn't leave marks. Those are for another day.” John smirked and Sherlock considerably paled. And then John started to poke poor Sherlock for minutes with the cattle-prod until his chew-toy was hoarse from screaming out in pain.  
Afterwards John took away everything but the cuffs around ankles and wrists. He rudely pulled Sherlock up and pushed him away from the metal-rack.  
Sherlock wasn't able to see where he was being moved to. His eyes were filled to the brim with tears and he felt rather dizzy. There was no fight left in him.  
Soon enough he hung over a wooden piece of torture-instrument and his wrists were cuffed to the legs of it. So were his ankles on the other side. The leash was attached to a ring on top of the head-harness. John pulled and pulled until Sherlock's head was held in a position to his liking.  
Sherlock drooled and cried; tears, snot and saliva ran over the bit, and his chin, and dripped down on the floor. John was rock hard.  
“Now I will widen you further.” Sherlock sobbed harder and louder but his pleas were uttered into nothing.  
Of course, he held the dildo in front of his eyes, so Sherlock was able to see what was to come. He was scared and twisted and jerked around until John hit him with a cane once. A mark clearly showed and a welt formed quickly. Sherlock yelled and sobbed and John placed the dildo onto his hole and pressed down.  
Sherlock knew, if he relaxed it wouldn't hurt that much, but he wasn't able to. He was tense and expected to be torn apart. Right he was.  
Blackness fully encompassed him, when the dildo stuck halfway inside. The pain was cruel and blood was already flowing.  
John frowned and then swore.  
“Fuck!” He pulled it back out and then administered an enema by just pushing water into him and letting it run out again by lifting up his body. The slim body was limp and he didn't come to.  
He did come to when John poured ice-cold water over him. He coughed wildly.  
“Since I don't want to kill you, I will use a smaller one now.” Sherlock kept sobbing when John pushed a smaller thing into him. Then it was pumped up and filled him out completely. It didn't hurt too much; it just made him feel stuffed. He groaned.  
“I want you to be 100% with me, you mustn't dream away or hide from me while I am doing things to you. That's why I'll give you a reminder.” John said walking around Sherlock until he could lock eyes with him. He lifted his arm and a cane came into Sherlock's view. He let out a painful sound and started to tremble.  
“I believe, this will help you remember how to act properly when I am present.” Sherlock begged behind the bit, but John stood behind him and took aim. The cane crashed down on Sherlock's behind hitting each cheek twice. The welts forming were blooming and when John hit him on the back of his thighs, they were also bloody.  
Sherlock kept screaming constantly while he felt the blood trickle down his legs.  
“Well, that should do it for now.” John dropped the cane.  
“Of course, you can make it all better and you know how, don't you, my lovely?” Sherlock knew what the blond wanted and simply nodded. John took the bit away and Sherlock opened his mouth as wide as he could.  
John grinned and stepped up. He grabbed the leash holding Sherlock's head up and widened his stance. His free hand took hold of his prick. He moved the head over Sherlock's face and smeared his pre-cum all over it.  
Sherlock held still but cried and sobbed. John lowered his head.  
“Beg for my cock in your mouth, bitch!” John whispered. It took Sherlock a few seconds, but then he roughly replied.  
“Please put your cock in my mouth, Sir. I need your cock, Sir, please let me suck it.” Sherlock had tried and he wondered, if it had been enough. Pleadingly he looked into John's eyes looking for a reaction.  
John had tilted his head and listened to his play-thing. Now he sighed.  
“Well, I had better pleas, but I shall approve for now.” With these words he shoved his thick cock between Sherlock's lips and forced his jaw to open even wider. The edges of his mouth were quickly torn and bloody.  
But he knew what was expected, so he started to suck and lick at once. He even tried to find some sort of rhythm. He also knew, he wasn't allowed to close his eyes, so he kept looking up at the blond.  
“Well, well, not too bad and surely not what I expected now. Keep going, try harder!” John said and praised him just a little. At once Sherlock relaxed a bit and his mouth opened further making his jaw crack.  
He felt John's prick touch his gum and finally it reached his throat. Just by reflex he started to swallow around the thick head. At once John pushed deeper into him.  
The moment Sherlock thought he had to black out, John let go and let him inhale.  
“Very good, slut, really. I knew it. Keep going and you shall prevent further punishments like the one I just had to dish out.” Sherlock almost cried, he was so very thankful.  
“Talk to me, my pretty.” John stared into his eyes.  
“Thank you, Sir, for your praise. I am very inexperienced, but I do try, Sir. Please believe me, Sir, I really do my best from my very limited experience. Please teach me how to properly please you, Sir.” His voice was rough already and he pleadingly looked up.  
“I know, soon you will do much better. You are learning fast already and I appreciate it.” John saw him relax more and more.  
“Thank you, Sir.” He even whispered his thanks to John.  
“I won't come down your throat today. I'll keep that for later. Now I will simply come all over your face.”

***

While the cum still ran over Sherlock's face and made his hair crusty, John took him off the bondage-furniture. Finally, he was able to stand and straightened his long legs. Right then, he felt the plug in his behind again. He had totally forgotten about it and by now it didn't even hurt anymore. It was simply a bit too much, the feeling of being stuffed to the brim.  
“There will be one last thing I am ordering you to do right now. Afterwards you will eat and rest. Now come along.” John pulled the leash and Sherlock trotted after him, arms hanging down and head lowered to the ground.  
John led him into a living-room and made him sit on a sofa with him by his side, close by his side. He took his left arm and lifted it up. He attached the cuff to his collar. Sherlock was absolutely clueless.  
“Now I want you to give me a proper hand-job.” Sherlock paled since he had no idea how to do it. His eyes full of panic, he started to shake his head.  
“Sir, I don't know how to do that! Please don't punish me for it, Sir! Please, Sir!” Again, he cried and John was getting hard again.  
“Just listen to my orders. I will tell you what to do. Just do as I say. Is that understood?” John's voice was used to giving orders.  
“Yes, Sir, it is understood.” His long fingers trembled while he waited for something.  
“Make yourself as comfortable as possible. Sit and relax. Then open my trousers and take my cock out. Do it slowly and just hold it on your palm.” John told him and Sherlock swallowed. Then he changed position until it felt better and reached for John's trousers. He carefully pulled the zip and reached inside. John wore no underwear and for the first time Sherlock's fingers touched his bare flesh.  
It felt warm and not too bad. His eyes were looking for what he was doing when John stopped him.  
“Look at me, princess!” At once Sherlock looked up and met his eyes. He wondered what he had done wrong.  
“I want you to look at me while you are doing this. Look into my eyes. Keep holding my cock on your palm for a while, adjust to the feeling and listen to me.”  
“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock replied while John's eyes held him captive. He felt the warmth of John's flesh, his skin, and the thickness of his prick. He swallowed. This huge thing had been inside his behind, had forced him open, and now he was holding it like something precious.  
But perhaps it was something precious now? Perhaps, if the treated him, it, right, the man would treat him better, too? What choice did he have anyway? Who would come to rescue him? Only he could do that; only he was here. Lestrade would need too long. Mycroft would surely miss him come time he needed his help to do his legwork.  
But until then? He had to take care of himself, had to follow the man's orders and be his sex-slave, his boy-toy.  
His slut.  
“Now close your fingers around my cock, but do it gently. Take some pre-cum from the head and use it to slick your way down and around. There should be plenty enough.” The blond quietly laughed.  
“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock simply did what being told and very carefully so. That hadn't been too bad.  
“Very well, slut. Now move your hand with your fingers closed slowly up and down. Several times increasing your speed. Whenever you feel it's time, move your thumb over the slit and press down.”  
“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock did that, too. When he felt the man relax and his breathing became harder, he knew he was doing it right. It made him feel better.  
It made him feel proud?  
Expectantly he looked at the man whose head was resting on the sofa's back, but his eyes were focused on Sherlock's. And he slyly smiled.  
“Well done so far, my lovely. My pretty boy will be able to do it perfectly time come.” John whispered and he saw how Sherlock's ears perked up, how he sucked up the praise.  
“Thank you, Sir.” Sherlock roughly whispered being close to tears. He would do a lot to be praised instead of being caned or brutally fucked into his behind.  
“Now increase the speed and feel for my reactions. I will stop talking now and rely on you to know what's right. You may use more than your hand and fingers.” He smirked.  
“Yes, Sir.” Sherlock moved his hand and fingers this way and that and categorised John's reactions. Soon he had him panting and felt utterly proud.  
His eyes were locked with his when he slowly lowered his head and gently licked over the head never leaving the man's eyes.  
John raised a brow but didn't stop him, so Sherlock kept going. He licked around the head and finally poked the tip of his tongue into the slit. John's cock tasted both fruity and musky. It wasn't too bad. Actually, it wasn't bad at all.  
Sherlock relaxed further. His eyes fluttered.  
John reached out and placed his palm on his neck fiddling with his collar to free his cuffed hand.  
“Now touch yourself, too. Make us come together. Go ahead!” John ordered.  
Sherlock hadn't seen that coming.  
“Yes, Sir.” He sounded desperate. But his free hand took hold of his own long and pale prick and stroked it. Embarrassingly, it became erect soon enough and John quietly laughed.  
“Perhaps you could become more than just a slut, a slave. Perhaps you could become a fine pain-slut, just belong to me, my very personal whore who services only me and stays alive. I will consider it.” John murmured the words while Sherlock was desperately trying to please him. He had very well heard the words. Now he was scared of being given away to other men like a real whore. The words had been perfectly clear. He had to do everything possible to prevent that.

He tried the same moves on himself, the ones he had performed earlier on the blond. And it worked perfectly. Soon he held two erect and rock-hard cocks. Sherlock was even panting while still staring into John's eyes.  
Suddenly he realised, John was panting rather hard, too.  
“Faster, princess!” John ordered heavily and Sherlock obeyed at once working them up some more. He felt his intestines coil and his balls drew up, when John fisted into his hair.  
“If you dare come before me, you will regret it for days. Perhaps you won't ever forget. For now, I'll just show you how to hold yourself back.” John reached out and once rudely pulled his testicles. Sherlock paled and painfully exhaled. He swallowed, but slowed down at once. Instead he increased the speed on the other side.  
“Much better, bitch.” John murmured and relaxed back into the sofa letting go.  
Sherlock kept slow on his own cock, instead he increased the rubbing on the man's and also lowered his head back down always keeping his eyes locked with John's. Several times he sucked hard on the thick head poking into the slit. His fingers had moved to the blond's balls, massaging them gently. And since he hadn't stopped him, it must be just fine to do so. Perhaps it felt nice?  
“Yes! Yes!” John was yelling suddenly and Sherlock froze holding his thick cock between his plush and swollen lips. Then the thing pulsed and John came right into him. His fingers tightened around his own cock and he groaned. And while the man came between his tired and swollen lips, Sherlock followed right behind shooting his cum all over his hand, his stomach and even the man.  
Both of them were panting and when John was done, he pulled Sherlock up by his longish hair and pressed his lips on Sherlock's.  
This was new. Sherlock didn't know what to do. Should he touch the man? Should he be passive?  
“Relax!” The blond ordered and Sherlock simply obeyed sinking back into the sofa while his mouth was being fucked by his master's tongue.

***

Sherlock looked into John's eyes who straddled him holding his hands beside his head on the back of the sofa.  
“This was extremely nice. It really was. Meaning, you deserve a reward. I will let you clean up, dress into something nice and join me for dinner.” Sherlock was dumbstruck.  
“Thank you, Sir.” And he wasn't able to remember, if he had ever been grateful for a dinner-invitation. But now he was. Really thankful.  
“Move back into your room. You may take off the cuffs, all of them. Shower properly. I will put clothes into your room while you freshen up. When you are dressed, come back upstairs. I'll be waiting for you.” John stood and let go of him.  
Sherlock got up but moved into a kneeling position in front of John.  
“Thank you, Sir.” John just turned away and left.  
Sherlock sighed with his eyes closed. He stayed like that for many seconds until he rose.  
Back in his room he still felt the plug inside. The man hadn't said anything about the plug, so he left it alone. He was almost used to the fullness by now.  
He showered and washed his hair again due to the crusty cum inside. Perhaps the man would allow him a brush by now.  
When he came out of the bath, he found clothes and a brush as well as a comb. He gratefully inspected everything.  
There was a pair of trousers, no underwear, that sat rather tight on his legs and low on his hips. The tee was tight, too, and when he moved his arms it rode up and showed skin. Probably the man liked this. There weren't any socks but since the heating was on, it was just fine.  
There also was a hair-dryer and at once Sherlock used it to style his hair. He ruffled it into the tousled mess he knew the blond liked.  
When he deemed himself presentable, he walked upstairs and back into the living-room. John was already there and turned around upon hearing him enter.  
At once Sherlock dropped down on his knees and waited for the man to say something, order him to do anything.  
“You look splendid, my beautiful.” Slowly he came closer and put a strand of his hair back behind his ear. By now, Sherlock didn't twitch a muscle.  
“Thank you, Sir, for providing all this.” John hummed his approval and moved back again.  
“Get up and follow me.” He turned away and Sherlock slowly stood and followed a few steps behind. They entered some sort of dining-room. It was set up for two.  
“Since you have been good and behaved well, you may sit at the table with me. If there would have been flaws or misbehaviour of some sort, you would have knelt by my side with your hands tied on your lower back and hand-fed. So, consider yourself lucky tonight.”  
“I am thankful, Sir.” Sherlock said.  
“Sit.” John ordered and sat down himself. Sherlock followed suit and eyed the offerings. He was, in fact, hungry. He waited until John was ready though.  
“You need to eat. So eat. Take what you want.”  
“Thank you, Sir.” Sherlock took something and slowly ate being careful. But at the end he even took a second helping not knowing when he would get fed again. And he really didn't want to get force-fed. Not again. He remembered very well the time in hospital due to his drug-abuse where he had been force-fed. It had been a nasty and painful business.  
There was even red wine on the table and John had poured for them. Sherlock wasn't used to drink alcohol but now he had to. And he drank. Soon he was a bit tipsy and John realised that. He poured him some more and was amused. Perhaps the alcohol would take down some more barriers inside that man. He smirked.  
“You are well educated, slut. I appreciate your perfect table-manners.” John smiled.  
“Thank you, Sir.” Sherlock slurred just a little bit. And he smiled back.  
“Call me “Master” from now on.” John ordered.  
“Yes, Master.” Sherlock at once replied leaning on an elbow by now and sipping his wine. His eyes were focused on John while his fingers twirled strands of his hair.  
“I believe, by now you have understood how you will survive, am I correct?” John asked.  
“Yes, Master, I have understood.” He quietly belched and blushed.  
“I am sorry, Master. Please forgive me, Master.” John smiled and nodded.  
“I am rather pleased tonight. I also know, you are still wearing the plug. You haven't taken it out. You have done well, my prince.” John praised and Sherlock relaxed further.  
“Thank you, Master.” He sipped some more.  
“If you behave, I might pull it out for tonight.” John offered.  
“I will behave, Master.” Sherlock replied as expected. John rubbed his hands.  
“Get up then and step over here. Turn your back on me, lower your trousers and stick your arse out.”  
“Yes, Master.” By now Sherlock obviously slurred. He moved over and lowered his denims. He swayed on the spot, but John didn't comment. Instead he placed one strong hand on his hips and the other pulled out the dildo. Sherlock groaned and shivered once.  
“Thank you, Master.” John dropped the dildo and pulled Sherlock back on his lap. His fingers felt for his hole. It was wide open.  
John took his cock out and positioned it correctly. Then he pulled him down and Sherlock just groaned and threw his head back.  
“Talk to me, slut.” John whispered from behind.  
“This is good ...” More slurring but no pain. John pinched his nipple from behind. And he didn't need to say a word.  
“I am sorry, Master. It is good, Master. Please forgive me, Master.” John hummed his approval and let go.  
“Move, slut!” A final order and Sherlock started to move. Up and down he moved, faster and faster. He chased the pleasure he knew was there.  
“Touch yourself!” Another order and Sherlock reached for his cock.  
“Use both hands!” Sherlock rubbed over his nipples. And he groaned loudly while he kept pushing himself up and down on his Master's cock.  
By now he knew what pleasure meant. And he was drunk. He wanted to feel good, no matter how it was achieved. John had taught him many things; he hadn't known before. Good things. Things like this. Things he liked.  
Feelings suddenly mattered.  
Plus, he wanted to survive. He would do what the blond wanted. Whatever it meant, whatever it was.  
Suddenly John's flat hands were hitting his thighs very painfully so. But it was good pain, pain making his cock throb. Pain that made his head fall back on the man's shoulder. Both men groaned and John pinched and twisted the other nipple.  
“Please, Master, I can't stop it. God, please, I don't mean to ...” He groaned and tried to stop his orgasm, but couldn't.  
“No, don't hold back. Go on and come for me, my lovely. Go and come!” John pinched hard into his skin and Sherlock yelled out while he came. His cum pulsed out of his cock until he was weak like a kitten on John's lap.  
Only then he threw him off and pressed him chest down on the chair. He shoved his fat cock back inside and started to fuck him wildly.  
Sherlock's head was on the wooden chair and he needed to turn it to get air into his lungs. His fingers clawed into the wood around the edges and his thighs were spread open. He tried to adjust to the man's moves and he made it. He relaxed into it and soon even started to push back. He was chasing another orgasm.  
John smirked and moved faster burying his fingers into his fuck-toy's hips.  
“Let me hear you, bitch!” John yelled driving his thick prick into the former virgin's hole.  
“Please, Master, I need more! Please fuck me harder, Master! Oh God, I am so close, just please, do me, Master! I need you! I am begging for your cock! Just please, Master, please!” He had been hoarse before, but now the voice was completely gone. He breathed roughly and his eyes turned over.  
John was fascinated, but kept fucking him harder and harder until he came. He pulled out and at once shoved his four fingers into him rubbing over his over-sensitive prostate. The cum ran out of his slut's body with every move his fingers made. Sherlock yelled and made sounds worthy of being recorded into a porn-movie.  
John made him come spilling his cum all over the hardwood. Before Sherlock blacked out completely, he tried to focus on the man and thank him. Out came only slurred fragments.


	6. Chapter Six

The next day Sherlock woke in his room. He groaned and got up. There was another pile of clothes and on top was a note.  
“Whenever you are ready. Get showered, dress, and come up into the living-room. You know how to behave. And: Well done yesterday, my pretty!”  
Sherlock smiled. He had performed well. Perhaps these skills would save his life.  
He got ready and appeared in the living-room. John turned around when he entered.  
“Thank you for yesterday, Master.” Sherlock knelt thanking him. John stepped up to him.  
“Yes, you have done well, my pretty. Today there is something new coming up.”  
“Whatever you deem right, Master.” Sherlock replied kneeling on the hardwood.  
“I have several favourites I like to do to my slaves. Today we try another one. Just follow my orders. If you fail, you know what will happen.”  
“Yes, Master.” Sherlock expected something nasty coming up and right he was.  
Inside the torture-chamber John tied Sherlock's hands on his lower back. Next, he put a mask on him that had both a blindfold and a ring-gag attached to it. He forced the ring-gag behind his teeth.  
He got rid of Sherlock's trousers and put a diaper on him. Sherlock tensed being reminded of his past. He started to tremble and shiver at once.  
“Kneel!” John barked feeling the resistance coming up. Sherlock dropped down. He forced his head back and attached a funnel to his gag. He tied the mask to a wall, so Sherlock wasn't able to move his head far.  
“Hold still and bear it. Think of pleasing me, slut. And think of the consequences, if you don't.” Sherlock cried behind the mask but held still.  
Bottle after bottle was poured into him. Surely this would end nasty for him. He knew it.  
He could feel his stomach being filled and the fluid moving inside. Once and again he needed to belch and water or juice spilled out. Every time the man laughed and forced more into him.  
When he finally stopped, he tied his calves to his thighs and put a spreader-bar over his knees. Another piece of rope connected his bound wrists to the spreader-bar. It was extremely uncomfortable. But the funnel was taken off together with the gag.  
Sherlock sobbed. He didn't know what he had done wrong. But perhaps this was just another kink the man had? If he liked this, Sherlock must perform accordingly. He had to give him tears, beg for mercy and more.  
He shuddered and whimpered out his pleas.  
Soon after he felt the man close again. A hand rubbed over his stomach feeling for his full bladder and pressing down. Sherlock groaned and moved his hips forward.  
“Yes!” John hissed and pressed harder. Sherlock hunched his shoulders, groaned loudly, and started to piss into the diaper. He pissed for a long time and shivered his way through.  
After he was done, John took away the ring-gag and clawing a hand into his hair, kissed him hard. Sherlock relaxed into the kiss, because it was a nice thing to have now. He liked it.  
“Do you feel it? Does it hurt already?” John suddenly whispered. And right away there were the cramps starting. Sherlock groaned into John's mouth and tried hard to hold it back.  
“Let go, bitch. You've got no choice. The laxative will make you. I want you to. Let go!” John said close to his face. Sherlock shook.  
And he let go knowing very well it was the best thing to do. He didn't want to be caned.  
It felt like his behind exploded. It burnt. Everything mixed inside the diaper and the smell penetrated his nostrils. He cried hot tears feeling extremely humiliated. All the time he listened to the blond's giggles.  
He felt the man stand and walk away. His head came up.  
“Please, Master, don't leave me alone. Please? Master?” He sobbed and cried.  
“I have things to do, slut. And I don't want to hear you make a noise, is that clear?” He said coming back.  
“Yes, Master. It is clear, Master.” A plug-shaped gag was forced into his mouth holding down his tongue. It was buckled tight and his lips were forced around it. He was panting and breathing hard since his nose was clogged.  
The man once pinched a nipple and he screamed and shook. There wasn't a noise coming from behind the gag. John left a crying man behind.

***

Dr John Watson checked into his surgery. He had been on vacation for several days and now returned to look through his mail, both paper and electronic. All the time he was whistling a tune, talked to his nurse, and made appointments with patients. His mood was very good and he decided to keep his new chew-toy for the time being. He was a fast learner and eager to please him. He was frightened and scared and would do whatever John wanted. He had understood the concept. John smirked.  
He would have to watch him closely though, see that the fear wouldn't leave his eyes. It was what he thrived on.  
He had left him soaking in his own dirt. It was just another reminder. In fact, the man hadn't done anything wrong. It just was to John's liking to torture the man, to humiliate him properly.  
Now John was thinking about tonight. There needed to be more torture to break him completely. It wasn't yet done.  
John kept thinking while attending to his business and suddenly he knew what he would do. He smirked and finished today's work.

***

Sherlock was exhausted and cold to the bones. He had no idea why this had been done to him. The concept of simple torture hadn't reached his brain. He needed a reason. He was looking for his mistake, his failure. There must be some to have earned this predicament.  
Suddenly he could hear footsteps coming closer. The man was back. Sherlock lifted up his head. He tried not to move anything else to avoid the fluids slosh inside his diaper.  
“You reek of filth, slut.” The blond said standing in front of his sex-slave. Sherlock tried to utter a proper reply, tell his Master sorry and beg for forgiveness. Out came only very muted noises. John grinned.  
He took off the mask and the gag making his jaw crack. His head hung low again and he leant against the wall panting hard.  
John cut the rope around his wrists and Sherlock quietly groaned. His arms tingled and he wasn't able to use them to hold him upright. So, he just stayed slumped against the wall. Next his legs were freed and the pain was horrible. Sherlock cried again and tried to kneel in front of his Master.  
“I know you can't. Since I am a doctor, I expect nothing impossible of you. So simply crawl and follow me. Move!” He yelled and Sherlock knelt on wobbly knees placing his palms on the ground, being in pain, and started to crawl after John. Every move made the content in his diaper slosh around. The smell was disgusting and it made him sick.  
He was led into the bath. The man looked at him.  
“Look at me, slut.” He ordered and Sherlock's head came up. His mouth stood open and he was drooling without noticing it.  
“There is a bucket especially for the diaper. Clean yourself properly. There will be fresh clothes. I expect you inside my wonderful torture-chamber. Don't let me wait too long.”  
“No, Master. I will hurry, Master.” Sherlock replied waiting for the blond to leave him behind.  
“You better will.” John replied and left him.  
Sherlock sighed and closed his eyes resting his forehead on the tiles for a few seconds.  
But then he slowly got up and stood beside the bucket. He swallowed feeling sick already. But he had no choice. Very carefully he opened the straps on his hips. The lid was already open. Only a little bit fell on the tiles. After he had cleaned the floor and closed the lid, he threw up into the toilet. More fluids came out, but it helped. He cleaned the toilet, too.  
Only then he showered very thorough inhaling the scent of both shampoo and shower-gel. He styled himself properly and took the fresh clothes, John had provided outside.  
His eyes widened. He held up a tartan mini-skirt. Not a kilt, it was too short for a kilt. Again, Sherlock swallowed. He stepped inside and pulled it up. Naturally there wasn't any underwear. Instead of a top there were two metal balls hanging from a smallish cord.  
By now Sherlock knew what these were for. He rubbed over his nipples to get them erect and pulled the cord tight around them. The balls were hanging down and creating a permanent pull that led directly south toward his cock. He licked over his lip.  
Only then he carefully straightened his body and the skirt. He mustn't deny the man anything he wanted. He didn't want to be hurt or even killed. He had to endure the next treatment the man would provide. He expected some more torture today. But perhaps tomorrow would be better again. He must perform splendidly to ensure that.

Upon entering the torture-chamber he wanted to kneel but was stopped.  
“No, stay like this. I want to look at you.” Sherlock stood still and John slowly approached him and walked around him once looking him over.  
“Very beautiful, you have legs for it. I knew, it would look wonderful.” He smiled reaching beneath the skirt. He was looking up at him.  
“Spread your legs for me, bitch. I really don't want to tell you every time.” A clear threat.  
“Forgive me, Master. I am sorry, Master.” Sherlock spread his legs and when John raised a brow, he folded his hands on his nape. John nodded and Sherlock relaxed just a little bit. He must concentrate more to avoid being punished.  
One hand stayed beneath the skirt and rested on the inside of a thigh. His free hand played with the metal balls dangling from Sherlock's nipples. Every single sway sent an impulse toward his cock and made it grow. John enjoyed that game very much. The harder he pulled or pushed them; the more erect Sherlock's cock became.  
“So, you still like me, hm?” John asked and locked eyes again.  
“Yes, Master, I do like you.” Sherlock carefully replied, being not completely sure what he wanted.  
“So why can't I hear you begging for me and the things I love?” He asked and Sherlock swallowed hard.  
“Master, I am begging for your treatment. Please do anything you wish, I will love it, Master.” Sherlock started to stutter and John smirked.  
“Well, perhaps you are thirsty again, bitch? Tell me, are you thirsty?” John roughly whispered squeezing his cock. Sherlock jerked in his grip and moaned.  
“Yes, I am thirsty, Master. Very much so, Master.” He started to pant and felt his erection beneath the skirt. He also felt horrible. He also wanted to live.  
“That sounds good to me. Move over to that chair and if you beg for it nicely, I might consider putting some lube onto the dildo.” With these words he attached a huge dildo to the middle of a seat with armrests. Sherlock felt cold again.  
“Please, Master. Please let me sit on that dildo, Master. I know, it will do me some good and stretch me further to manage your girth better, Master. Thank you very much for the opportunity to become better, Master.” John was indeed surprised and simply lubed the dildo. Sherlock registered it as the praise it was.  
“Now lower your hands again and sit down. Hold yourself up using the armrests. But don't take too long. If I think, it takes too long, I will push you down leaning on your shoulders. Have I made myself clear, bitch?” John asked.  
“Yes, Master.” Sherlock quickly stepped up and lifted his skirt over the dildo. He felt for the top of it and gently held the position while his arms held him upright. Very carefully he folded his arms. The dildo breeched him partly and he groaned. His eyes fluttered.  
“No!” John barked and at once his eyes were locked with the blond's.  
“I am sorry, Master.” He tried to move up and down a bit and with every move downward, he made it closer to the bottom.  
He let go completely when the man put his palms on his face and started to fuck him with his tongue. He lost his grip and his weight pulled him down. He was fully stuck on that dildo and shouted out in pain, but it got muffled because John's mouth covered his.  
He was frozen and carefully tried to adjust on the chair while being kissed hard.  
“Well, that worked out just fine. Very well done, bitch.” John praised and Sherlock fully relaxed.  
John hooked his collar to the chair's backside and tied his hands to the armrests. A broad leather strap was buckled above and below his chest. His ankles were tied to the chair's feet.  
“The next thing you will surely remember.” John grinned while holding up a funnel attached to a gag. Sherlock swallowed. Was this happening again? But there wasn't a diaper. What was going to happen?  
The blond shoved the broad gag behind Sherlock's teeth and buckled the strap behind his head. The funnel got turned into the correct position. Again, the man poured water and juice into him and Sherlock just drank it all down.  
“Now something new will happen and you'll better like it.” John threatened. Sherlock blinked his eyes pleadingly.  
The gag came back out, but another came up for it. A rubber gag was placed over his mouth and chin and buckled tight. There was a hole in the middle where John screwed a hose into the metal.  
“I bet, you know what this is, am I right?” John held up a catheter and Sherlock could only nod. What was he doing to him?  
John lifted the skirt over his cock and applied some lube into the slit. Then the catheter went inside. Sherlock groaned when John moved the thing. It felt like he was going to both piss and come.  
It went all the way in and was connected by the end of the hose hanging from Sherlock's gag. And now Sherlock knew what his predicament was. He had to drink his own piss.  
John crossed his arms over his chest. He looked his play-thing over and then grinned. He picked up a remote from a nearby table and waved it in front of Sherlock's eyes.  
“I almost forgot. You can't be bored, can you, my pretty?” He pushed a button and the dildo in Sherlock's behind came to life. He shook and groaned when its head rotated inside him and at the same time pushed in and out of his hole. Tears were spilling freely only after a few seconds.  
The man looked pleased and pushed some more buttons on the remote.  
“The pattern will change every few minutes, so there won't be any boredom. So, if you come, you will add something special to the mix. And you can be happy about the fact, that I won't make you drink mine.” He smirked, switched the light off and left the torture-chamber.

***

Soon the urge to pee overpowered Sherlock and he simply let go. He felt sick when swallowing down the first amount of piss, but soon managed the steady flow. He also got still steadily fucked and after hours he his behind hurt extremely.  
This predicament made it impossible to sleep. The only thing he could do now was to think of an escape-plan. He had to lure John, Dr John Watson, into a cocoon of self-assurance. He must act the best he could. He would do anything to stay alive. Anything.  
He closed his eyes and thought of his one and only friend, Gregory Lestrade. Would he even miss him? Or would he be happy about the fact that he was being left alone? Happy about the fact, he was not pestering him for new cases? New puzzles?  
And what about his older brother, Mycroft? What about CCTV? Why hadn't he seen? Where had he been?  
Sherlock sighed and swallowed again. He got used to the taste by now. This would only end when John stopped the flow. Until then the circle went on and on. And on.

***

Hours later the man returned and took the hose away followed by the catheter. He also stopped the dildo. Sherlock was still gagged and tied to the chair.  
The blond lifted up his head and looked at his half-open beautiful eyes.  
“Well, well. Tell me, slut, have you orgasmed, as well?” Sherlock weakly nodded.  
“And how did it taste? Did you like it?” Sherlock kept nodding. John raised a brow and finally took away the gag. Sherlock coughed. He also knew what the man wanted. He looked up and met his eyes.  
“Thank you, Master, for giving me this new experience and another way to pleasure you. I do also thank you for allowing me to come several times, Master.” John smirked.  
“I bet, you are sore now, aren't you?” He asked fiddling with the remote.  
“Yes, Master, it feels sore.” Sherlock replied.  
“I actually want to see, if you could come again. Just for me. Now.” Greedily John looked at his groin. Sherlock wanted to scream and wail but knew better.  
“I can do it for you, Master.” John quietly laughed and pushed some buttons on the remote. The dildo at once started to work and even faster than before.  
And Sherlock had no choice. He made sounds. He felt his prick grow, his intestines coiled and his balls pulled up while the head of the dildo rubbed constantly over his prostate.  
Nothing whatsoever touched his prick and soon enough he again came without being touched. He shouted out his release and spurted over the skirt and his naked stomach.  
“Look at me!” The man ordered. Out of red-rimmed eyes Sherlock looked up. And the man didn't stop. He still got fucked. He still became hard. And the blond still looked greedy.  
Sherlock came repeatedly. It horribly hurt and there was no cum left. These were so called dry orgasms, John told him excitedly. He forced several dry ones out of his slave while Sherlock begged and begged for him to stop. And finally, he started to wail, something he didn't want, but had no powers left to stop. He was too weak to fight it, fight the urge to wail, to scream or shout out his pain.  
His body shook and he wailed. His voice was barely audible and he drooled without noticing. His eyes didn't focus anymore and only then John stopped the torture. Sherlock didn't even notice but kept wailing quietly while his head moved from left to right and his torso forwards and backwards. He was gone. John was pleased.

***

Sherlock again woke to another situation. He was warm and it smelled good around him. He carefully moved his arms and legs and found them not being restrained. Suddenly he realised, there was warm fabric beneath him and a tender hand carded through his hair.  
Could it be John who was so nice to him? Who treated him like a beloved one?  
“You are awake. Open your eyes, princess.” The man's voice was soft for now. Sherlock obediently opened his eyes.  
“There you are. Just relax. Don't speak. Just be.” His voice almost was hypnotic.  
Sherlock's mouth stood open a bit and his eyes were blinking hard to focus on his Master. Then his Master's finger moved over his lower lip and Sherlock didn't even twitch anymore nor did he shy away. His free hand kept moving over his head, his fingers were carding through the strands.  
“Today you may relax. I will feed you properly, you will take a bath and have a drink with me. If you wish, you may even watch some telly or listen to some music.”  
Sherlock couldn't believe his ears. If his Master was nice to him, too nice, suspiciously so, there must be something nasty coming up soon. But he would enjoy the good hours as long as he could.  
That's why he just smiled up at him and licked over his finger. John grinned. He knew, after examining his fuck-toy's throat, he wasn't yet able to talk again.  
They rested like this for a long time and Sherlock fell back asleep until he got nudged by his Master's knee.  
“Get up and take the bath I promised you.” Sherlock wanted to say, that there wasn't a tub in his bath, but instead he just obeyed.  
“Yes, Master. Thank you, Master.” His voice was still very rough and dark and speaking hurt a lot. He slowly left the room. He still swayed a bit and had to lean on the wall every few steps. But he made it back downstairs and into his place. He was naked anyway, so he just got down and opened the hidden door. He crawled through and there was a tub now. It was freshly done; Sherlock could smell it.  
He prepared a hot bath with the foam, that was suddenly there, too. Suddenly he realised, that his insides weren't so sore anymore. So, John must have done something. He lowered himself into the water and closed his eyes. He quietly moaned and soaked for quite some time.  
When he got out, he again found fresh clothes. This time there were comfy clothes provided. Track pants, a sweater, and even warm socks. Sherlock put the warm socks on at once. He was close to tears; he was so thankful.  
He moved upstairs and entered the living-room. The moment he saw him, he hurried up to him as fast as he could and fell on his knees. He reached out and took his smaller hand between his. And he kissed it. Then he pressed it against his forehead.  
“Thank you, Master.” He roughly whispered. His eyes were filled to the brim and close to overflowing. He wasn't able to control this anymore. Anything good happening to him was something precious and he had to be grateful, profoundly thank his Master, for it.  
“My pretty, what bothers you?” The man kindly asked. Sherlock once sobbed.  
“No bother, Master. I am just thanking you, I really am thankful, Master.” Sherlock sobbed some more until John pulled his hand free. Sherlock looked alarmed but was only handed a box with tissues.  
“Here, blow your nose. I want to have dinner with you.” Staying on his knees he blew his nose.  
“Thank you, Master.” John looked at him.  
“Get up, whenever you are ready, and join me in the dining-room.” And he simply left. Sherlock looked at his back and stood at once. He hurried after him feeling a bit dizzy. Upon entering the dining-room, he smelled the food, and he closed his eyes in delight. Before this he couldn't have envisioned a time, when he was happy about being fed, about having dinner, about everything nutritious.  
Only slowly he crept closer, because the man didn't say anything, but sat already. He stopped short in front of the table and just looked.  
John was cool to the outside, but inside he screamed with joy. He had trained him well.  
“Sit, my beautiful.” He gestured to the chair next to him at the corner. Sherlock hurried along.  
“Thank you, Master.” The moment he sat, his stomach rumbled and he blushed. John took his plate and filled it for him.  
“Eat. You need to eat.” He placed it before Sherlock and looked at him. At once he started to dig in and so did John. There was wine, too, and dessert, as well.  
After Sherlock was done, he felt so tired again. But he knew, he wasn't able to rest. Not until John allowed him to retreat. And surely this wouldn't happen too soon.  
Right he was. After dinner John pulled him back into the living-room by his wrist. He sat down on the sofa and pulled Sherlock onto his lap facing each other and their groins close.  
“Put your hands on my shoulders.” John quietly ordered. Sherlock instantly obeyed.  
John's hands were resting on his hips moving up and down. Sherlock enjoyed the gentle touches, he really did. Tears filled his eyes again.  
“Don't cry. There is no reason to cry, my lovely.” John whispered and Sherlock raggedly exhaled.  
“Lately, you have given me reason to be very proud of you. You obey every order; you didn't fight back or rebel against me. You are a very good bitch, slut, slave, and whore. I believe, I can trust you.” Sherlock's ears perked up. Was his hour coming up now?  
“Thank you, Master.” Sherlock seriously said.  
“You like the sex now, don't you, slut?” The blond asked.  
“Yes, Master. I do like the sex.” Inside Sherlock wondered, if sex with another man was different or even better. Would he ever find out?  
“I think, you are ready now to be shown to my friends. You will perform on stage with me. You will show everyone how eager you are to please me, to bear whatever I will dish out and thank me for it.” John stared into his eyes.  
“Yes, Master. I will do whatever you want me to do, Master.” Sherlock replied.  
“Just perfect. Show me then. Be incentive. I won't order you. Show me, what you have learned so far.” Sherlock froze, but then he tightened his grip on his master's shoulders and started to rub over his groin. Soon he felt his cock grow and only when the bulge beneath his trousers was big enough, he stopped and slid between his knees. He carefully parted them and opened the fly. He reached for the cock and gently pulled it out.  
Locking eyes with his Master, he opened his mouth and engulfed the thick head starting to suck at once, forcefully so. And only when he heard him loudly moan, he forced himself down until the head hit his throat and the moan turned into a groan and his hands fisted into his longish hair.  
Sherlock changed pace at a random pattern. The fingers of his left hand were around the shaft pressuring it carefully and the other fingers were massaging his Master's perineum.  
John's ten fingers were clawed and buried into his dark, silky, hair. And he pulled it a lot making Sherlock's scalp burn. It wasn't too painful though, just the opposite. Sherlock became aroused, too. And he continued with what he was doing until John shot his load into his mouth. He swallowed him down and kept sucking him until there was no more. Only then he licked him clean and straightened his slim body.  
Slowly the man let go of his hair. His scalp trickled but still it wasn't too bad; it kept him hard and aroused.  
“You impressed me. Very well done, my prince.” The man smiled and pulled him close and into a fierce kiss.  
When he let go, he looked at Sherlock's erection.  
“Very good, my pretty boy, you haven't just come. You have waited for my saying so and I haven't, have I?” He grinned like a devil.  
“No, Master, you haven't.” Sherlock confirmed and had a lot to do to control his transport's urges.  
“Well, I am telling you now. I want you to come. You are not to touch your cock. You may imagine whatever you like. And you may shove your fingers into your hole. Nothing else.” John expectantly looked at him. Sherlock swallowed and tried to relax.  
“Am I allowed to close my eyes, Master?” He dared to ask. John tilted his head.  
“Yes, since your behaviour has been flawless, you may close your eyes.” John replied.  
Sherlock closed his eyes and spread his long legs. He sat on his heels and imagined lust. Since his cock was still erect, it worked pretty well. But it wasn't enough.  
Sherlock didn't want to dream of John, his rapist, his capturer, his Master, to get off. He wanted someone he liked, someone he knew, someone he trusted. And up in his mind came a vision of DI Gregory Lestrade. The salt-and-pepper haired man with the deep, dark, brown eyes who saw everything.  
Sherlock sighed and felt his cock throb. Should he touch his insides and think of Greg's fingers? Or should he think of his brother whom he trusted absolutely? But even Sherlock knew, it wasn't appropriate. That's why Greg's face popped up in his mind. And he came moaning.

***

Sherlock was sent to bed soon after and he thanked his Master for everything. He backed out of the room slowly, but back in his room he just shed the comfy clothes and climbed under the sheets.  
He wondered what was coming up tomorrow or soon enough and if it was a chance to escape. What did John mean? Sherlock was still a very naïve human being considering these things, even if he had learned a lot during the last days. He had no idea how long he was with this man by now. Days? Weeks? Even longer?

John was in his bed, too, and wondered about his slave. Was he really ready? Was he acting? What would he do being on stage? Would he perform perfectly? Or would he embarrass him in front of the club members?  
John thought not, he was way too scared of him. Surely, he didn't want to risk a branding or scars. But would he have to threaten him with it? Should he offer to gag him the last minute to prevent stupid words rushing out of him?  
He would need to watch his reactions closely, when he would tell him tomorrow.  
And perhaps he would need a final test to check on his pet's control over his body.

***

Sherlock woke up in his bed. There weren't fresh clothes, but he showered anyway. What was he supposed to do now? He just dared, dressed into yesterday's clothes and opened the door moving upstairs. He went looking for his Master. What else could he do?  
Soon he smelled coffee and warm bread. He entered the living-room and found John having breakfast. He quickly moved up to his side and knelt before him.  
“Master. I didn't know what else to do.” He looked desperate, but John reached out and carded through his hair making him relax at once. He hadn't flinched since forever.  
“It's perfectly fine, slut. Sit down and have breakfast with me. There is coffee or tea. If you want anything else, just let me know. You will be needing all your strength.” There was a smile on his Master's face, he didn't like at all.  
But he had coffee and loads of rolls and eggs. He enjoyed it a lot. And even if the man watched him closely, he wasn't touched or raped or hurt. He simply had breakfast.  
About half an hour later, John started to talk.  
“Listen up, bitch.” Sherlock looked up.  
“Yes, Master.” He straightened his body and held on to his cup of coffee.  
“Tomorrow I will take you into my club. There will be an audience, because you and I will be performing a session on stage. Do you know what I am talking about?” He asked.  
“No, Master. I am sorry, Master.” Sherlock replied. And even if he had some idea what was coming up, he needed more information.  
“I will show you off in front of everyone. They will watch you and your behaviour closely. Sometimes I will give you orders and you will follow them instantly. But I also expect some standard acting from you without needing to order you. Tell me, what that could mean.” He looked into his eyes. Sherlock thought about it for a few seconds.  
“I believe, I shall kneel by your side without being told. If I am allowed to talk, I will call you Master. I will always acknowledge your orders. I will always spread my legs for you, my Master.” Sherlock had no more ideas and helplessly looked at John.  
“Not too bad, bitch. I have trained you well, it seems. I need to tell you some more nevertheless. I will give you a proper thrashing by hand and cane on stage and you will take it like the proper pain-slut you are. At first a simple spanking with your naked body over my lap. Your hands will be tied on your lower back. You may scream the place down, the more the better, and your cock will stand up for me. People will love it.” John smirked and poured more coffee.  
“It will be a session; it's not meant as a punishment. You have done nothing wrong for a very long time, my lovely, so don't worry. It's just for the show. And for me, of course, because I just love it!” He smiled dangerously.  
“You will be tied up and I will cane you. I am not sure yet, if I am using the riding-crop or a cane. There shall be welts though. There shall be blood, too. You will thank me for every single blow and ask for more because you deserve it.” Sherlock swallowed down some bile. He felt sick.  
“People will expect you to pleasure me. You will suck me off on that stage. I know, you can do it tied up and blindfolded. If you throw up, you will lick it off the floor as long as it takes.”  
“Yes, Master. I am not going to throw up.” John raised a single brow.  
“Very well. What else.” He hummed for a few seconds until he continued with his plans.  
“Finally, the suspension. I will tie you into a hog-tie and pull you up by some ropes and make you swing in the air. While you keep swinging, my cock will enter you repeatedly. All the time I expect you to beg for it, beg to be fucked only by me. You will also tell me why and ask for permission to orgasm. Perhaps I will do you the honour and let you come on that stage. It might happen, if you behave well. And if you don't, well, just expect something nasty, like an auction.” Sherlock's eyes widened.  
“Yes, an auction where I will offer you to the highest bidder. He may then rape you on stage in whichever way he or she likes. So, you better behave, my perfect whore.” John leant back in his chair and looked at his slave.  
Sherlock still held his coffee. He wasn't able to wrap his mind around all this. And for the first time he thought, he would be better off dead.

***

John saw that his sex-slave was close to a panic-attack. He gently placed his palm on his arm and locked eyes with him.  
“Hey, sexy.” His voice was low and charming. Sherlock looked up and right into his bright blue eyes.  
“I know, you can do it. I know, you won't disappoint me. You are the perfect pain-slut. You know what to expect. First there will be pain and a bit of humiliation. And then there will be sex and several orgasms. You like to orgasm by my hands, right, slut?”  
“Yes, Master, I do.” Sherlock's eyes were filled with tears again. He wondered where all of them came from and if one day they would simply stop flowing because some vessel inside his transport was suddenly empty.  
“Oh yes, that. You are to cry on stage, too. Naturally you have to because the audience loves tears on a grown man. You will be the bloody star tomorrow night and everybody will envy me. And I am talking literally bloody.” He quietly laughed.  
In the meantime, Sherlock had emptied his cup and secretly looked for more. He eyed the big thermos but didn't dare taking it.  
“Please, Master, may I have some more coffee?” He finally asked.  
“Sure, my lovely. Pour me some, too. This is still your truly deserved breakfast.” He held out his cup and waited for Sherlock to act.  
“Yes, Master.” Sherlock reached for the thermos and lifted it. His hands were shaking, but he made it without dripping coffee everywhere. He poured for himself, as well, and placed the thermos back down. His forehead was sweaty.  
“You are nervous already. Why are you nervous? Talk to me!” John ordered coldly.  
“I am scared, Master. What if I fail you? What if I am not worthy? What if I can't get aroused for you?” His lips quivered and he finally openly cried.  
“You won't fail me, slut. You love some pain, that much is clear. If you are afraid, you might beg me to use a gag. But a gag on stage is a weakness. The audience wants discipline. The only noises they want to hear are your screams and your pleas for more. If you are so far off, that you can only wail, you wail. That's considered a good thing. And since I know you wail quite a lot, I am positive you will capture the audience in my club. Together we will make their day, slut!”  
Still Sherlock didn't look convinced and the man sighed.  
“Just answer my questions now, bitch!” John ordered looking into his coffee.  
“Yes, Master.” Sherlock whispered his reply.  
“What do you do when you see me first?”  
“I kneel straight up in front of you with my hands folded on my nape and my knees spread, Master.” John nodded.  
“How do you acknowledge my orders when spoken out loud?”  
“I repeat your order, confirm it and call you Master, Master.” Again, John nodded.  
“And if I don't speak out loud?” John tilted his head.  
“It depends on your stance, Master. I can read your body-language and if you are holding some implement, I should know what you expect, Master.” John looked pleased.  
“Very good. Now let me tell you how it starts. You are naked, of course you are. You are only wearing your collar and I pull you by the leash after me onto the stage and introduce you. The moment I stop walking, what will you do?” Suddenly there was a question.  
“I will at once drop on my knees, fold my hands on my nape, straighten my spine and spread my legs, Master.”  
“I will introduce you as my new slave. Everybody in that audience will expect some show including pain. So, I will start with the spanking. On stage there will be a leather armchair. What now, slut?” Again, John asked.  
“I expect you to walk over there and sit down. I will crawl after you because you haven't allowed me to stand. Only after you have found a comfortable position, I will lower my body over your lap and cross my wrists on my back.” Sherlock hoped he had guessed right, since there hadn't been any cuffs mentioned.  
“See? You know what to do!” John almost sounded proud of him and Sherlock relaxed. Perhaps he could do it right. Perhaps he wouldn't disappoint his Master. Perhaps he would get another reward after tonight?  
“I will hold your wrists together on your lower back. You let your head hang down. I will put one leg over yours, so you wouldn't kick out by reflex. Then my free hand will hit you on your bare behind. I will hit your cheeks, your thighs, and the place between. And I won't hold back. It will hurt. So, what are you going to do?”  
“I will sob and cry and beg for Master's forgiveness. I am telling you how sorry I am, Master. When I feel the heat and the pain and my swollen cheeks, I will start to wail and shake my head. I will always beg for mercy, Master.” Sherlock looked at his master who looked back at him.  
“Very, very good. You will be so wonderful on that stage.” He even sighed.  
“Afterwards I will tie your hands on your lower back and blindfold you. It's your turn.”  
“I will kneel before you. I will shovel forward until I reach your fly. I will pull the belt from the loops and use my teeth to open the buttons. I will gently take your cock between my lips and place it in my mouth. I will start to suck you and lick you. I will soon throw myself down on your cock and swallow several times.” Sherlock needed a break.  
“Yes! And I will fuck your face and come down your throat. Your swan-like neck will be on full display as will be your whole beautiful body. Soon I will have emptied myself. What's next?”  
“I will swallow everything and finally lick your cock clean. I will then return into my position in front of you waiting for your next orders.”  
“And?” John asked and Sherlock was clueless. He started to sweat again because he didn't know what his master expected.  
“What about you? Aren't you happy about pleasing me like this? Won't you show me your adoration?”  
“Oh! I am sorry, Master. Of course, I am hard for you all the time. I am leaking, but I am not allowed to come. So, I don't.”  
“The audience wants to see your arousal. They expect you to show your adoration for me like this.”  
“I can do that, Master.” Sherlock assured him.  
“I will then take either the cane or the riding-crop. What's your next move?”  
“I will accept my punishment. I will beg for a beating, count the strokes, and ask for more, because I deserve always more. I will scream and wail and sob and cry.” Sherlock sounded weak already.  
“There will be welts forming and I will criss-cross over them. There will be blood, too. Since I am a doctor, I will make it look horrible, but I assure you there won't be any scars. Of course, I could do scars, no problem. But I don't want your skin to be blemished. You are too beautiful to destroy. Your body is simply perfect.” Sherlock blushed crimson and had no idea what to reply. He was just staring at his Master with his mouth open.  
“And that's not sexy anymore, my lovely.” John chided but laughed saying the words. Sherlock closed his mouth and lowered his gaze. His face was still red.  
“I am sorry, Master. I don't know what to say.” He roughly whispered. He needed John's praises by now. Without them he would wither or die. Or so he thought.  
“After that you won't be able to do much, I am well aware of that. So, I will just tie you into a hog-tie and lift you up by ropes. You will swing free and you will be hard and erect. Don't forget about that detail, bitch. I will make you swing and with every swing my cock will enter your tight behind. Again, they expect you to scream. Scream like your life depended on it. Well, actually it does.” John chuckled and Sherlock paled.  
“I will fuck you until I come into you. And only then I will allow you to come. You will come with me still inside you but unmoving. You can clench around me but nothing more. I know you can do it. The session will be over after you have come. The lights will go out and we will leave.” John stared into Sherlock's eyes.  
“I can do all that, Master. I will do it for you, so you won't be a failure in front of your friends. And I will do it, because I want to live. Thank you for giving me this chance, Master.”  
Dr John Watson was extremely pleased with himself.


	7. Chapter Seven

The same day John told his toy he needed a last session but only to reassure him about his skills, about the control he had over his body.  
Sherlock didn't look very convinced but simply bowed his head and gave in.  
“Now, slut, again with the drinking.” There was a neat row of bottles on the table in the living-room.” Sherlock helplessly stared at the arrangement. And he had no idea what to do or even say. Tears were filling his eyes and John sighed.  
“I am sorry, Master. I don't know what to do.” Sherlock was on his knees already, but now he crawled over to John and slung his long arms around his thighs. And he openly cried. He was scared about being branded or pierced or severely damaged on that stage tomorrow.  
“Stop it, slut! Kneel straight up! Hands on your nape! Move!” John shouted and it worked. Sherlock once swallowed but fell in position. His lips still trembled.  
“Are you listening to me?” He asked in a dangerously low voice. Sherlock looked up at him and met his eyes. Tears were falling and he quietly sobbed. But he also managed to form a reply.  
“Yes, Master, I am listening.” And he also slowly came down.  
“The only thing I want you to do for now is to drink. Take your drinks from the bottles over there. This is about body-control. I want you to drink about three bottles. Then I will tie your hands on your lower back. You will kneel here in my living-room with your legs spread wide.” Sherlock really tried to understand the meaning of his Master's words, but he didn't manage.  
“I am sorry, Master. What do you expect from me, Master?” John sighed shaking his head.  
“I want to see how long you can hold it without using the loo. I want to see if you can hold it, when I am telling you to hold it. Because if you piss on my hardwood, the punishment will truly be extreme.” John smiled pleasantly. Sherlock paled. Then he eyed the bottles.  
“I estimate, I could hold it for a few hours, Master.” Sherlock looked at him not knowing if this reply would please him.  
John raised a brow.  
“You are telling me, after having finished three bottles of soda, you will be able to hold it for several hours?” He snorted.  
“Anyhow, I want to see that. Start drinking, bitch.” Sherlock was allowed to sit on his heels while he emptied the bottles.  
After the fourth bottle of soda John tied his hands on his lower back and attached a spreader-bar over his knees. He placed him on the hardwood by his armchair, but he wasn't pleased with the sight by his side. That's why he shoved a huge ball-gag behind his slave's teeth. And only when he started to drool around it, he sat back and waited him out.  
While waiting he read today's paper and started a novel. Only then Sherlock started to shift on his knees. John checked the time.  
“I am impressed, slut. But I want another hour. One hour more.” He stared into his eyes and Sherlock whimpered behind his gag.  
John really wondered, if Sherlock would piss on the hardwood. He hoped not, because he needed him on that stage.  
Sherlock remembered being able to hold it for hours. While watching criminal suspects from a secret place, he had had no choice but to hold it. He always had mastered his transport's needs. To pee hadn't been important, getting the criminal was. And he forgot about his needs. And even after having arrested the suspect, he had followed DI Lestrade into the Yard to follow procedures. He also didn't like using public toilets, that's why he kept holding it. And being back home at Baker Street he wasn't able to let go because he had held it for too long. He needed to relax completely, that's why he smoked a few cigarettes and only then visited the bath.  
Well, here it was different, of course. He was forced into this, forced to drink, and forced to keep it inside. He was tied up and gagged now, too. And four bottles of soda sloshed inside him. Once and again he just had to shift on his knees and every time he felt the liquid. His insides were gurgling while he kept drooling.  
His Master wanted another hour. He would manage that. He had to manage another hour, because he didn't want to be punished. By now, he didn't want to think about what Master would do to him, if he pissed on the hardwood.  
Sherlock concentrated on Gregory Lestrade again, as well as his brother. He pulled up images of former cases. He also remembered the one time he had gone to a pub with Greg. It had been nice; not that he had admitted it at the time. Now he wished he had.  
“I am really impressed, my beautiful.” Suddenly Master was standing right in front of him. Sherlock looked up and made pitiful, whimpering noises behind his gag.  
“Yes, I know, my lovely. Your bladder is going to explode any minute now, am I right?” John asked looking at his trembling form. Sherlock carefully nodded mumbling something.  
“I know, I can't move you into the bath. We have to do it here.” He turned around and picked up a bottle that had been sitting by his chair all the time. Sherlock hadn't been able to see it. He really had lost control over the situation, his life, everything. He had missed it.  
“I want you to piss into the bottle. I also want you to come while doing so. Think of my thick cock inside your arse, bitch. Wank your brain. If you can manage that without falling down, I will allow you a relaxing evening afterwards and day tomorrow.” The blond held up the bottle for Sherlock to look at. It looked like the ones he knew from hospital.  
He would manage to piss into it, no problem. But how should he make himself come?  
He desperately looked up at his Master and slowly shook his head whimpering more loudly.  
“Oh, does pet need my help?” The man asked laughing swinging the bottle between two fingers. And Sherlock nodded. He even tried to beg with the gag inside his mouth.  
“OK, hold still.” He ordered and Sherlock once sobbed. John walked behind his slave and pulled his wrists further down. Another rope connected them with the spreader-bar.  
Next Sherlock's prick was put into the bottle. And he tried to relax and let go. But he couldn't. His whole body shook and he panted. His belly was extended and finally John pressed his fingers into his bladder.  
Sherlock screamed and shook some more. And finally, he pissed like a horse into the bottle. While doing so he desperately thought about how to come. He started to imagine something nice that had been done to him, he remembered orgasms that had wrecked him thoroughly. And his cock grew and rubbed against the bottle. He groaned and the man quietly laughed.  
“Very good, slut. Go on. I want you to come.” But at first Sherlock kept pissing.  
“Perhaps my prince needs Master's help?” John whispered into his hear and Sherlock simply nodded. He mumbled several pleas behind his gag and saliva and snot covered his lips and chin.  
John was rock-hard locking at him. He kept watching him until he was done. He rudely pulled his cock out of the bottle scratching some skin of his dick in the process. Sherlock groaned holding tightly on to the spreader-bar.  
“Would you like some pain to help you along?” The man asked tilting his head. Sherlock just nodded.  
John reached into his pocket and held up a set of clover-leaf clamps. He used his fingers to rub Sherlock's nipples until they were poking out. Sherlock's arousal was obvious by now and John attached the clamps.  
Sherlock groaned and whimpered and his body trembled wildly. His predicament wasn't any fun, but he would have to come. Or his Master would do something unspeakable to him; something that could not be reversed or he even might not recover from.  
So, Sherlock remembered his Master's tender hands over his body and inside of him. He knew he could be tender and he clenched around the thought. Soon enough he groaned moving his hips as much as he could.  
John was excited and watched his toy closely. When he saw him being ready, he ripped off one clamp. Sherlock yelled out his pain and came spurting. Half way through he ripped off the second clamp making him come even harder. Sherlock's cock was twitching and he was quietly whimpering. But his eyes were open and fixed on his Master.  
“Good enough.” John said and took the spreader-bar away first. Sherlock swayed on his knees and had to lean against the sofa.  
“Hold still.” But Sherlock shivered so hard that John wasn't able to loosen the knot. He smacked him on the back of his head and Sherlock fell on the hardwood.  
“Stay.” John ordered and Sherlock just stayed on the hardwood feeling his wrists being freed. When finally the gag came out, he weakly coughed and his jaw cracked.  
“Are you thirsty, my beautiful?” Sherlock nodded.  
“Yes, Master, I am thirsty.” Sherlock roughly answered.  
“Drink this then.” John offered the plastic bottle and Sherlock didn't have the strength left to even feel disgusted. He simply drank. And then he thanked his Master for providing it.  
“Now clean up your mess. Only when my hardwood is free of your spunk, you may retreat and clean yourself. Your food will be brought into your room. Rest yourself, sleep and relax. I need your strength tomorrow.”  
“Yes, Master.” Sherlock roughly replied and lowered his head down. He was on his hands and knees and licked his cum off the polished wood.

***

John gave his sex-toy a rather nice day before the session would start. He even gave him a thorough massage which Sherlock enjoyed very much. He even got aroused and groaned rubbing his cock over the fabric beneath him.  
Suddenly he felt John's finger tighten in his nape. He froze.  
“What's that, slut?” Sherlock desperately tried to get up to apologize, but John wouldn't let him.  
“I am sorry, Master. I got carried away, Master. I didn't mean to, Master. Please, Master, forgive me!”  
“Well, well. Normally I would punish you right away. But due to our session tonight, I don't want you worn out and weak. But just that you know, I won't forget this!” He once hit Sherlock flat on his arse and it stung. It was a promise of what was to come tonight.  
“Get out of my sight now. Shower and dress into the clothes I put in your room. Go!” John almost shoved him off the stretcher. Sherlock almost fell but managed to stay on his legs. Again, he was close to tears and just hurried away to get ready.  
He was ready on time and appeared upstairs. His stomach was a knot and he was paler than it was normally the case. John looked him over and knew, he needed to calm his toy down a bit.  
“Come here, my lovely.” His voice sounded low and gentle and Sherlock moved like a puppy to his side. His eyes were on the ground and his fingers fiddled on his back.  
“Look at me, gorgeous, and give me your hand.” John ordered. Sherlock looked into his blue eyes and reached out a shaking limb.  
“I am not angry anymore. I understand, you must be nervous. You will behave splendidly now, I know that. You don't want to disappoint me, do you? The last days you have been acting perfectly and pleased me a lot. And you will do so tonight.” He once assuringly pressed his hand and smiled up at him.  
Looking like this Sherlock almost liked the man. Almost.

***

When it was completely dark outside, John led Sherlock into his car and rode through the countryside. It would have been the perfect opportunity to run, but Sherlock just couldn't. He felt so weak. This was so not him. And then it was too late.  
John stopped the car behind a mansion and opened the door for him. Sherlock was wearing his collar; it never came off. Now John hooked a leash to it.  
“You know how to behave, bitch?” He asked quietly.  
“Yes, Master. You have explained everything very thorough. I won't fail you. I promise, Master.” He looked into John's eyes and convinced him.  
John nodded and pulled him along. By the entrance John slid a key-card through a slot and they entered the building. Inside they met several master and slave couples and all slaves were almost naked or dressed in nothing but a harness or a gag. It was just Sherlock who was dressed in a beautiful suit to bring out his stature and skin and simply his good looks.  
And Sherlock was thankful. He cast a thankful look towards John who knowingly smiled.  
They ended up behind the stage in a room serving as a wardrobe.  
“Well, my lovely. Go and use the loo, if you need to. Last chance.” John offered and Sherlock hurried along thanking him on the way.  
“Tonight, it will be only us on stage. Everyone outside is here for us. Well, for me showing you off, introducing my new slave.” Sherlock swallowed. He never dared asking what happened to his former slave, the man before him. John never told.  
John gave Sherlock a once-over and walked around him. He checked on his clothes, sniffed him and once ruffled his hair. Then he was pleased and looked it, too.  
“Look at me!” He ordered and they locked eyes.  
“Do not embarrass me on that stage, do you hear me?” He threatened and Sherlock felt cold at once.  
“No, Master, I won't do that.” Sherlock's voice was raspy and he just looked fearful enough to get the attention John wanted. He smirked and took the leash. He wound it once around his hand and forced Sherlock along.  
Sherlock prayed to all deities he had ever heard of for mercy. He didn't want to be here. He promised to file every single sheet of paper DI Lestrade needed from him, fill out every form he had missed and behave on his crime-scenes. He promised all of this and more, if only someone would come and rescue him.  
But soon enough he stood on the wooden stage only divided from the audience by a red velvet curtain. Classic music was being played and quiet murmurs were heard besides little cries and groans.  
“Think of your cock, slut, and be ready for me!” John said and then there were drums and a spot-light. The curtain came up and Sherlock started to perform as planned.  
Luckily, he wasn't able to see the audience, they were all in the dark. But the audience could see him and cheered and shouted.

***

They loved him. They loved his cries; they loved his tears and they loved his begging.  
When John made him present his arse to the audience to show off the welts he had just created, he almost blacked out but managed. The curtain came down and his forehead hit the wooden boards. John hooked a finger through a d-ring on his collar and pulled him over the ground and into the back-room again where he was given a tumbler with whiskey and sat on a table's edge. He looked at his slave and was very, very pleased.  
“Come over here, my beautiful.” He ordered. Sherlock wasn't able to stand, so instead he crawled over to him. He mumbled the acknowledgement very quietly but he did it. By now he was also completely naked.  
John lifted up his head by placing his shoe under his chin. His eyes were red-rimmed, his nose was clotted, and his face was blotchy. His lips quivered and his arms shook.  
“You look like a Master's dream, my beautiful. Everybody out there envies me. You make me feel so proud, so good and so alive!” John gently carded through his hair.  
“Thank you, Master.” Sherlock's voice was hoarse from screaming and yelling and wailing. There were welts on his behind and they were dark red or bleeding.  
“If you make it through the second and last part of tonight without failing me, there will be tons of rewards waiting for you at home. I might even forget about your bad behaviour earlier. That should be an incentive, am I right?”  
“Yes, Master, absolutely.” Sherlock raggedly breathed and kept looking at him.  
“Please, Master, may I have some water?” He dryly coughed.  
“Sure thing, my pretty”. John downed his drink and filled the tumbler with water. He handed it over to his play-thing and Sherlock slowly drank. He gratefully closed his eyes.  
“Thank you, Master. Please, just another minute, Master.” He begged breathing deeply.  
“Sure thing, take your time, my lovely.” John said and poured himself another drink.  
Sherlock carefully sat up on his heels and groaned when touching the welts on his behind. He breathed deeply for a minute and finally stood again.  
“I am ready, Master.” He locked eyes with the blond who slowly stood downing his drink.  
“Very well, my prince. Let's finish the show. You know what's coming up now. You don't have to do anything. Except for the yelling and screaming, sobbing, and drooling, of course.” John laughed and pulled him outside and back on stage.

***

Sherlock's body was covered in rope, diamond shaped, and he hung from the ceiling in suspense. John kept pushing his body and he kept swinging. He wore a huge ball-gag forcing his mouth wide open. He drooled on the boards and his hair hung in strands from his head. The audience loved the sight and cheered John on.  
Sherlock knew what was expected of him and he imagined again another's man hands on and in him. His cock was inside the bondage, too, but Sherlock leaked and he was hard anyway. There was more cheering and he panted heavily.  
Finally, John started to fuck him and Sherlock started to cry and scream again, when he raked his nails over the welts.  
John pulled his head back by the ropes and took off the gag. Sherlock's jaw cracked and he right away started the wailing getting from very low to very high very soon. The audience went mad and John wildly fucked him until he came. And only then Sherlock came, too. The moment he came, he lost consciousness.  
John lowered his body down and held him up by his hair for the audience too look at. He bowed and the curtain fell. Only then John picked Sherlock up and carried him back into the wardrobe. Sherlock did not move while John drank a bottle of water. The second bottle he poured over his toy who quietly groaned but woke.  
John stared into his eyes.  
“You are the fucking best slut I ever had beneath me. This was amazing. You deserve a special treatment.” John said smiling pouring another drink. Sherlock looked scared and tried to beg but couldn't manage, he was too hoarse and his voice was gone.  
“No, don't be scared. I mean to give you a real reward this time. Relax, my beautiful.” And Sherlock did relax closing his eyes.  
He wished for his little room with the small bed. He wished to take a bath. He wished to just being left alone. It was a wonderful dream to dream.


	8. Chapter Eight

On their way out John simply took his slave's wrist and pulled him along. The leash was long lost and so was the expensive suit. But the collar was still on. Sherlock left the mansion only in track-pants and socks. There wasn't even a tee and he froze. But it was only a short way, a few steps, until he could sit in the blond's car.  
The man switched the heating on for him and even the seat beneath his welted behind became warm. Sherlock sighed, it felt so good. His head lolled against the window right after he had fastened his seatbelt with shaking hands.

But suddenly he was torn out of his dream of gentle dark-brown eyes. The breaks screeched and the car turned around several times. The car rode full force against something and the air-bags came out with a bang. Everything became black for Sherlock. Again.

***

He woke when someone called out his name. It sounded desperate and he slowly turned his head. His hands came up to touch the somehow familiar person. He knew this voice. He just knew it. Who was it? It wasn't the man, the blond, his tormentor, his Master. It was the man with the dark, brown eyes. Was he getting mad? He couldn't be here, could he?

“Jesus, fuck, what happened to you? God, I will kill him. What did he do to you? Fuck!” The voice muttered and swore. Sherlock smiled. It was good to listen to him. He had been his saviour. Because of him he had survived.  
Slowly he opened his eyes completely and tried to focus on his personal guardian angel. He reached out with a shaking hand and tried to speak, say his name, but couldn't.

“Hush, Sherlock. You are safe now. You don't have to be afraid anymore. We have saved you and everything will be OK again. Just rest. Sleep.” The voice lured him into safety, but when he finally managed to clutch at his jacket, he didn't let go and he didn't sleep. He just stared up at him with a somewhat insane smile on his face.

***

DI Lestrade stood beside Sherlock's hospital bed. His dark-brown eyes were tired but happy. Sherlock had only let go of his jacket upon their arrival in hospital and the examinations had begun. And Greg had been with his friend during these. Sherlock had been awake all the time, but hadn't flinched once. As long as Greg had stayed, he was doing fine. He followed all orders being given by nurses or doctors. And when they finally gave him something to fall asleep, he kept holding Greg's hand while doing so.  
Greg rubbed over his tired eyes when someone placed a hand on his shoulder.  
“I am sorry, I couldn't make it, DI Lestrade.” Mycroft quietly said. Greg turned his head.  
“Bullshit, Mycroft. You have made it possible; you have arranged everything. Without your intel, we couldn't have rescued Sherlock. We might have been too late anyway.”  
“Have you read his file?” Mycroft Holmes asked, but Greg shook his head.  
“No, I have seen him, seen his body. It was enough. This Dr Watson is a perverted human being. I would have liked to shoot him on the spot.” He looked dead serious.  
“God, my little brother. Why haven't I seen?” Mycroft sounded unhappy.  
“You were abroad. Don't blame yourself, Mycroft.” Greg said looking up at the tall, slim man. Mycroft Holmes looked impeccable in his three-piece-suit. He clung to his umbrella and he was white-knuckled. It was the only sign he gave out. He was stressed and he could let go with this man, he knew it.  
“I need to sit.” He managed to get out the words and then just slumped on the floor. Greg gaped at him and carefully let go of Sherlock's hand placing it on the blanket. Instead he quickly moved to Mycroft's side. The umbrella had clattered to the ground and he looked down. He sat cross-legged and his head hung low. A rebellious lock had loosened itself from his well combed hair and by now he looked like a normal human being.  
“Mycroft Holmes, give me your hand. I will help you up. You can't sit on that floor. Please?” Greg said pleadingly and reached out. Mycroft looked up and smiled tiredly.  
“What would I do without you?” He sighed, but held out his large hand. Greg looked at his long, thin fingers when he pulled him up. And when they stood close to each other, he didn't let go.  
“You were bored.” Greg gave him one of his best boyish smiles and it made Mycroft smile in return.

***

It took Sherlock hours to wake up, but when he did, he was fully alert. He didn't open his eyes at once, instead he listened into the room. He remembered instantly, he had been rescued, he wasn't with Master anymore. His life as a sex-slave had ended and with him alive. Sort of.

He smelled other people in the room. He remembered Greg being around. He had been there after the car-crash. He also thought about his older brother, Mycroft. Had he been here or had he just been dreaming?  
He decided, it was safe to open his eyes. Slowly he turned his head on the soft cushion. His eyes found his brother. He sat by his bed-side and his head rested on the mattress. He was fast asleep. And he drooled. Sherlock wished he had a mobile, so he could blackmail him later.  
His hand found his brother's face and he gently moved his fingers over his cheek. He was awake in a second and glared at him, but his face softened a second later.  
“Sherlock...” He whispered his name and grabbed his hand.  
“My...” Tears spilled on both the brother's faces.  
“Oi, I brought coffee, so there is no need to cry!” Suddenly Greg stood inside the door holding three cups of coffee. He closed the door by foot and both men tried to look unperturbed.  
“Greg...” Sherlock smiled up at him.  
“Here, my favourite detective, have a coffee. You, too, Mycroft.” Mycroft looked up at him.  
“I am not anything favourite then?” He asked, but took the mug.  
“You are my favourite spy. And now shut up and drink.” He sat down on Sherlock's bed.  
“How are you this morning?” Mycroft carefully asked.  
“I am not sure.” Sherlock shrugged.  
“What do you feel?” Greg asked instead. Greg kicked lose a flood of answers in response.  
“My soul is in pain. My body hurts. There are welts, probably scars. They were bloody. I have been raped multiple times, both oral and anal. He caned me. He used a riding-crop. I had a collar. I was tied up. I had to kneel. Sometimes I was given breakfast or dinner. I was blindfolded and gagged. I wore a mask. I wore a diaper. I was force-fed. I had a catheter. I drank my own piss. He forced me to come. I had been a virgin...”  
Mycroft just stared at him. This was his baby-brother. This shouldn't have happened to him. Mycroft very much wanted to kill Dr John Watson. He had to see to it, that he was given into his custody.  
Greg swallowed and needed to forcefully concentrate to keep the coffee in his mouth. He wished; he had killed the bloody blond on the crash-site. Sherlock deserved someone who loved him and treated him like the treasure he was.  
“You are disgusted. I understand. I am dirty and weak. I should have fought him.” Sherlock just drank the coffee.  
“We are not disgusted!” Mycroft said.  
“It's not your fault. And if you had tried to run away, he would have severely punished you.” Greg added.  
“He said, he would mark me, brand me, and torture me. Well, he did torture me. You have no idea what this man did to me. He had a god-damn torture-chamber!” Sherlock was tense all over and panting.  
Mycroft thought about his own sex-life and swallowed some more coffee. Would he ever be able to live out his kinks without thinking of his baby-brother? He sighed.  
“I should be disgusted and disappointed about myself because finding you took me so long. Missing you took me too long. I waited too long, until I went to your brother for help. It's my entire fault, you have been suffering.” Greg placed the mug with shaking hands on the table. Then he covered his face with both hands and started to cry.  
Sherlock was shocked. Why was Greg crying? He rescued him! And he looked at Mycroft for guidance. He felt so helpless. And suddenly he remembered what he wished for; the touch of this man who now cried because of him.  
He carefully moved over the bed until he was able to reach him. He pulled him into his arms and embraced him. Greg was not moving but cried even more. Now Sherlock was really helpless, but he didn't let go. Instead he scratched over Greg's scalp and murmured senseless words.  
All the time Mycroft watched them both from the other side of the bed. He wished; he could have taken Greg into his arms. But he had been frozen, when he had started to cry. Now he also was jealous.  
What a ridiculous feeling. He was angry with himself.  
His eyes met Sherlock's. And Sherlock smirked at him. He smirked. Mycroft could smile again.  
Sherlock let go very slowly and his eyes spoke to Mycroft. Mycroft though shook his head. Sherlock's eyes told his older brother, he would tell Greg about his feelings. Mycroft slanted his eyes. But he gave in and reached for the box of tissues on the window-sill. He slowly walked around the bed while Sherlock brought Greg's body into an upright position again. He had been leaning against Sherlock like flesh without bones.  
“Compose yourself, Detective Inspector. My brother needs you.” Mycroft handed over the tissues. Greg looked up and snivelled.  
“Charming.” It was the only comment he made.  
“He meant to say, both of us need you, Greg. Now play nice with each other and leave me alone. But be back and bring something tasty to eat.” Both men now looked at him.  
“You want to eat?” Mycroft stared at him.  
“What would you like to have, Sherlock?” Greg asked always being practical.  
“Pancakes and ice-cream. A glass of red wine. Please?” He pleadingly looked up at them.  
“Don't ever beg for anything in my presence, please?” Greg said touching his hair lightly.  
“I'll take care of it, darling brother. Sleep now. We'll be back in a few.” He took his brother's hand and held it for a few seconds.  
Sherlock looked sleepy and waved good-bye. He was fast asleep in seconds.  
Outside his door the two men looked at each other.  
“So, we will be back in a few then?” Greg asked looking up at Mycroft.  
“Yes, of course. I will take you home now, feed you and provide you with clothes. Then we will shower and return.” Mycroft turned around and walked away, so Greg wouldn't be able to see his reddish cheeks. He had meant to say something else. What came out instead was simply rubbish. He ground his teeth and hurried away, when he heard Greg laugh.  
“Mycroft, wait!” Greg called after him and then started to follow. Outside Mycroft quietly swore, because his car wasn't here yet.  
“I would like to go home with you. I'd like to have some food and fresh clothes. But I'd also like to shower at first. Plus, I really would like to know why you have clothes for me at your place?” Mycroft looked down at him over his nose.  
“Since I am the British government, I should see to your well-being, am I right?” Right then the car appeared and Mycroft shoved Greg inside.

***

Greg was clearly lost in his own mind when entering Mycroft's townhouse in Kensington. He followed him inside and was ushered upstairs into a guest-room.  
“You will find everything you need in there.” Mycroft pointed over to another door.  
“I don't know what to say ...” Greg shook his head.  
“Take your time. You will find clothes afterwards. Just come downstairs when you are ready. I'll be waiting.” And gone he was.  
Greg had no idea what was happening here, but he liked it.  
Freshly showered and dressed into extremely expensive and well-fitting clothes he walked downstairs. He smelled the food already and walked right into the kitchen, where Mycroft was just unpacking boxes with hot food.  
“Indian! Just perfect!” Greg quickly closed the distance between them and looked at everything.  
“Gregory, there you are.” Mycroft looked at him and smiled. Just as he had imagined. This man needed better clothes and he had taken care of it. He was pleased with himself. The hours spent over CCTV had been worth it.  
“Where are your plates and everything? I'll set up the table.” Greg pointed at the kitchen-table. Mycroft raised a brow.  
“Excuse me? I have already had the dining-room made ready.” He said.  
“Dining-room?” Greg asked looking clueless and Mycroft gestured over his shoulder.  
“Right there. Go and have a look.” And Greg went and looked. There was a huge table set up for the two of them. It was very dark in there and both the table and the chairs were dark oak. There were candles in a holder and a bottle of wine.  
“Don't you like it?” Mycroft was suddenly right behind him and made Greg jump. He closed his eyes and breathed.  
“I do, I really do. I am just not used to a dining-room. I would have set up the kitchen-table for us.” Greg shrugged turning around. Mycroft was very close behind him, but Greg didn't budge.  
“It's no bother for Gerard.” Mycroft said holding two bowls.  
“Who is Gerard?” Greg asked and took the bowls placing them on the table between them.  
“Butler and bodyguard. You are on the list now, so he won't bother us.” Mycroft said not looking at Greg.  
“What list?” Greg asked curiously.  
“The list containing the few people who have direct access to me and this place.” Mycroft replied still not looking at him.  
“But why me?” Greg was confused.  
“Do you really have to ask?” Mycroft roughly said turning away. But this time Greg stopped him taking his wrist.  
“No, stay. Explain yourself, please?” Mycroft looked at Greg's strong, tanned fingers that encircled his thin, pale, wrist.  
“Sorry! I am sorry, Mycroft.” Greg let go at once and Mycroft turned away to get more bowls. Greg walked over to the seats and waited for him to return, because he wasn't sure where he was supposed to sit.  
Finally, Mycroft returned with the last dishes and sat. Only then Greg sat, too.  
“Please, help yourself, Gregory.” Greg did just that and then had to watch Mycroft pick a spoon full of everything out of the bowls. He didn't comment on it though, because he knew Sherlock. The brothers were more alike than he had thought.  
“I am stupid, Gregory.” Mycroft suddenly said. Greg was just chewing on a piece of lamb.  
“Whoah?” Then he almost choked and emptied his glass of red wine. Mycroft waited until he had finished his cough.  
“I am behaving like an idiot. Sherlock has seen it.” Greg still was clueless and he looked like it. He simply shook his head.  
“For fucks sake, I do like you! A lot!” Then he blushed crimson and emptied his glass of wine. Gregory blinked and stared at Mycroft Holmes.  
“You like me? A lot? This is fine. I mean, you are nice and everything. I do like you, too, you know?” Greg smiled and hoped, it would make the man seated opposite of him relax.  
“Gregory, you don't understand!” Mycroft topped up his glass and then Greg's.  
“Talk to me then! And do it more clearly!” Greg replied staring at him.  
“I want you to be with me...” He blushed even more. Greg had more to drink. This was a bloody surprise.  
“I don't know what to say, Mycroft. I am sorry.” He slowly shook his head.  
“It's all fine. Just forget what I have just said.” Mycroft coldly replied.  
“The fuck I'll do!” Greg replied just as cold.  
“But you don't want me...” Mycroft quietly said.  
“I didn't say that.” Greg answered. Mycroft's head came up and hope was back in his eyes.  
“What did you say?” He asked. Greg drank more wine.  
“Honestly? I think, you are a very attractive man, Mycroft Holmes. You have great taste. You are always dressed impeccably. You are powerful, the air vibrates around you. I never would have thought, you'd cast a second glance at me, the poor, ruddy looking DI from Scotland Yard, who is just his little brother's handler.” He almost sadly shook his head.  
“What? No!” Mycroft said and right away continued.  
“You are beautiful. You smile lightens up my life. Your eyes are like dark chocolate. When you look at Sherlock or even me, it's like melting goodness. You are sexy as hell, Detective Inspector.” Both men gaped at each other. Then they drank more.  
“Well, is there anything I need to know, before we even might try anything?” Greg asked.  
“Actually, there is.”

***

Greg stood inside Mycroft's play-room and just looked around. Mycroft had stepped aside and left him alone. Slowly Greg crept deeper into the room and looked at several things as if he had no idea what they were supposed to be used for. Carefully he moved his fingers over a few items. After he had finished his tour, he turned around and faced Mycroft.  
“Well, this is a surprise.” He had to clear his throat.  
“I thought, it might be better to let you know about this before anything happens and also because of what happened to Sherlock.” Mycroft said.  
“You were right to do so. I have to admit, it sort of turns me on. Some of it does.” Mycroft hopefully looked at him.  
“Really? What does?” He wanted to know at once. Greg moved up to him and took his hands.  
“Hush, Myc. This has to start very slowly. You have to explain a lot to me and I have to give my consent. Always. Do you agree with me?” Greg was dead serious.  
“Absolutely.” It was all he said, before he pulled Greg into his long arms.

***

On their way back to Sherlock, Greg bought him a large pizza with mushrooms and tuna and loads of cheese. Mycroft wrinkled his nose. They also brought a bit of wine for him and whiskey. Also some gin. Both men appeared with their lips swollen and Sherlock had a field day.  
“You should know, that I am very happy for you, both of you.” He said eating slice after slice of pizza. He also drank from all the alcohol and looked very, very happy afterwards.  
“Be nice to Greg, My. Don't break him.” He smiled though and Mycroft smiled back.  
Suddenly the door opened and a nurse entered the room.  
“Mr Holmes, Sir, there is a Dr Hooper to see your brother. She says, she knows him?”  
“Not now, please.” Mycroft replied.  
“Please, My, I would like to see her. I know her. I used to work with her. Please?” He said looking at his brother.  
“Don't, OK?” Mycroft roughly whispered and then turned to the nurse.  
“Let her in. It's fine.” She nodded and left. No more words were spoken until Dr Molly Hooper entered the room carrying a bunch of wild flowers, a balloon and a teddy-bear. She beamed at Sherlock but froze, when she saw Greg and Sherlock's brother.  
“Oh, I am sorry, I didn't know. I'll better be going.” Her head turned from one to another.  
“No, stay!” Sherlock said and so did Greg at the same time.  
“It's fine, Dr Hooper. I am Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock's brother. We'll leave you alone for a bit, shall we?” And he took Greg's hand and pulled him out of the room.  
“Molly, how nice of you to come here and visit me.” Sherlock gave her a warm, honest smile for the very first time.  
“I missed you. You weren't coming to the morgue anymore. I talked to Greg and we started looking for you. Greg even talked to many people of your homeless network. Finally, he managed to reach your brother.” She still stood there with all the gifts she brought. Sherlock threw the pizza box on the floor.  
“There are flower pots over there, I think. And please put the balloon at the end of the bed? And hand me the teddy-bear.” He reached out for it after having wiped his greasy fingers with the provided napkins. Molly did all that, but at first took the dirty tissue away from Sherlock's fingers before he could throw it on the floor, too.  
“Thank you so much, Molly. It means a lot to me.” He clung to the bear.  
“I was worried, Sherlock.” She scanned his face and tried to read his body, but he was safely hidden under the blanket.  
Finally, she just took his file from its place by the door. Sherlock didn't stop her, but watched her closely.  
She read and read. She paled a lot and finally, she looked very, very angry.  
“What that monster did to you, it's unbearable. Is he dead?” She asked angrily.  
“As far as I know, he isn't . Yet. I believe, my brother will take care of that.”  
“Are you in pain, Sherlock?” She asked gently and sat on the bed by his side.  
“The meds are doing their jobs. But my soul is in pain. I am still terribly scared. I have feelings, I never had before. My whole life has changed.” Molly watched him clinging to the bear.  
“Whatever you need, Sherlock.” Molly promised just that and reached out for him. And he let her take his hand. It felt good, nice even. Both smiled at each other. The gentle touch did him a lot of good.  
They sat there without another word spoken for a good while, when finally, both Mycroft and Greg returned. Molly at once stood and smiled at Sherlock.  
“If you like, I could come back tomorrow?” She offered.  
“Please do just so.” Sherlock replied all smile. Greg raised a brow and so did Mycroft. Molly left waving and closed the door quietly.  
Greg picked up the pizza-carton.  
“You ate all of it!” He said sounding very disappointed.  
“You always told me to eat. Now I eat and it's a bit not good?” Sherlock asked and all men laughed.  
“Eat as much as you like and what you like. We will provide it.” Mycroft said.  
“Did you take him home, My?” Sherlock asked. Mycroft nodded.  
“Did you show him what to expect? Did you explain?” Mycroft nodded some more.  
“And he is still here. Well, he must like you somehow.” Sherlock shook his head.  
“You knew of your brother's kinks?” Greg carefully asked.  
“Not in the detail, no. I knew, he had a special taste, but since I never cared for that kind of things...” He shook his head.  
Both Greg and Mycroft had no idea what to say. For a few minutes there was silence until Sherlock asked a question.  
“Could you bring someone to cut my hair?” He asked his brother.  
“Of course, I'll make an appointment for tomorrow.” Mycroft replied.  
“Thank you, My.” Sherlock looked tired again.  
“You should sleep, Sherlock.” Greg said and wanted to take the bear away.  
“No!” It was almost a wailing sound and Greg made a quick retreat. The fearful look and the hunched shoulders were almost too much.  
“I am sorry, Sherlock. I am not going to take him away. Relax.” He tried to calm him down, but didn't manage. Mycroft took over.  
“Rest, brother-mine. I am here. No one will take him away from you. You are safe.” Very slowly Sherlock moved the bear beneath the blanket. His eyes never left Greg while doing it.  
Mycroft sat down on his bed and carded through his brother's hair until he fell asleep. His hands were around the bear and he was resting on his side.  
Only then Greg stepped up again. Mycroft looked up at him and moved them both outside.  
“It's all fine. He won't be angry with you. Go home now. I'll stay here.” Greg patted his clothes and swore.  
“My keys and badge and everything are at your place.” He looked at Mycroft.  
“As I have said, go home. Rest. Don't wait up.” Mycroft smiled. And finally, so did Greg.

***

Mycroft made himself comfortable on a chair beside Sherlock's bed. He toed off his shoes and rested his legs and feet on the bed. Then he pulled out his mobile and started to work.  
He arranged the transport of one Dr John Watson from the Pentonville-prison to the secret facility of Baskerville, where he would disappear as if he'd never existed.  
He had the club burnt down, where Sherlock had been forced to act on stage. Everyone who had been present there, was rid of his or her money or other things. They all ended up with nothing come morning. Except for the slaves, of course. They suddenly were rich and had inherited everything.  
Now the only thing left was to get rid of Dr John Watson. Mycroft wondered, if he should do it himself. Should he bring Greg along? If he knew, he would insist of being present.  
And what about Sherlock? Should he tell him? He would know anyway. But would he want to watch? Should he even tell him about it afterwards? He wasn't sure.  
But it was Sherlock, so he would deduce a lot. Mycroft was supposed to be honest spot on. And so he would.  
Come morning he had arranged everything to his liking. He was very pleased.  
Sherlock stirred beneath his blanket. He quietly groaned and clawed into the bear. Mycroft looked at him and wondered, if he would say something while not being fully awake.  
“Please, no. Please, Master, don't do this to me again. You are too big, just please, Master?” He panted and breathed shallowly. Mycroft decided to wake him.  
“Sherlock, wake up. It's me, Mycroft. You are safe. It's all over. The man is gone. Can you hear me?” Sherlock groaned, but his eyes fluttered and finally opened.  
His body was tense and his eyes turned wildly in his head.  
“I am here, Sherlock.” Mycroft whispered and took his hand. Sherlock held him tight and even pulled himself up.  
“My, I had a bad dream...” He whispered roughly.  
“I know. Just stay calm. Everything is just fine. I am here and you are safe.” Sherlock groaned and closed his eyes again.  
“May I have some coffee, please, Master? My?” Sherlock bit into his lower lip until it bled. Mycroft reacted as if nothing happened. Instead he typed something into his mobile.  
“Would you like to have anything to eat, as well?” Mycroft asked looking carefully over his mobile at his little brother.  
Sherlock stared back and swallowed. He needed a bit to finally realise, that he was safe.  
“Yes, My. Coffee. Yes.” His voice was rough and the words came out in a way Mycroft hated because he was repeating himself. But instead of saying something, he typed something more into his mobile. About twenty minutes later it knocked. Sherlock's head shot up and he looked at his brother.  
Mycroft was still walking in socks and he sighed. He opened the door and his assigned body-guard was out there holding a tray with coffee and sandwiches and pancakes and whatever.  
“Cook brought it himself.” He simply said and Mycroft gave him a rare, genuine smile. The man closed the door from outside and Mycroft carried the tray over to Sherlock's bed.  
“Coffee?” Sherlock asked and Mycroft nodded. He placed the tray close to Sherlock.  
“May I sit on your bed?” Mycroft asked and his brother simply nodded. They shared everything and Mycroft watched his little brother wake up. Finally, he resembled something he recognised.  
“Yesterday was good. Your visit and Greg's. I know, you have rescued me. Then Molly Hooper came and brought gifts. She brought this.” He pulled the bear out from under the blanket.  
“And the balloon.” He pointed towards the thing being tied to his bed. And he smiled. Mycroft was glad to see that.  
“Tonight I slept, but it also had a nightmare until you woke me. I really think, I don't want to be alone all by myself at Baker Street, My. But who might stay with me?” He asked sadly.  
“We could ask Dr Hooper, if she might do it?” Mycroft suggested, but Sherlock shook his head.  
“No, My. She is busy with her work at Bart's. Both you and Greg are busy with each other and I am happy about it. I really am. Just keep me busy. Bring me files and puzzles and I keep myself upright and alive working on it. It will make me tired, so I can sleep at night. I will manage to provide food and such, too. I won't die living by myself, My. But I can't stay here. I just can't.” He shook his head and his longish strands flew around.  
Mycroft knew, Sherlock had no idea for how long he had been with Dr John Watson. It had been many months. His hair had grown longer and was now hanging over his shoulders.  
“The hair-dresser?” Sherlock asked.  
“By ten o'clock.” Mycroft replied. The brothers finished their coffee and just enjoyed their being together.

***

After his hair had been cut, he was sweaty and Mycroft walked into the shower with him. He didn't mind holding his brother up. Sherlock was glad to not be alone in here. There were white tiles in here. White. Tiles.  
“I want to go home now.” Sherlock said looking at his older brother. He was clad in a bathrobe and sitting on his bed. He shivered wildly and Mycroft was worried to let him leave.  
“I know. I will take you home now. And I will stay there with you for a while. Tonight, Dr Hooper will pay you a visit. Please be nice?” He smiled at him and elicited a smile back.  
“I know, I haven't been nice to her in the past. And she is so good to me now. How did I earn that? I have no idea. But I want to be nice to her, too. I need her company. She is gentle with me. Her voice is gentle. She doesn't hurt me.” He clung to the bear.  
“And she brought you presents.” Mycroft said not knowing what else to say. But his little brother smiled holding up the bear and pointed at the balloon.  
“Yes, she did, didn't she?” And he looked relaxed and happy. Mycroft thought, that was the main thing. No matter how it was achieved.  
He sighed and gathered his brother's few belongings having found their way in here. Greg had brought some things from Baker Street and Mycroft had provided other things from his home or from Harrods.  
“Come along then.” Mycroft held out his hand and Sherlock stood. His long legs had been hanging over the edge of his bed already. But his long legs were trembling and he swayed. Mycroft quickly stepped up to his side and steadied him.  
They stood there for a few minutes in silence.  
“Let's leave this place.” Sherlock pressed out his statement after a few minutes and the bear hung from his left arm.  
Mycroft took his bag and the balloon. Everything else would be taken by his staff. They slowly left the room and walked up to the elevator. Sherlock's head moved from right to left and back. But he managed.  
When they were finally seated in Mycroft's car, he looked at his brother.  
“Where is Greg?” He asked.  
“He has to work. He stayed at my place for the night, but I have stayed with you. It's all fine. You don't have to worry, Sherlock.”  
“Do you think, he would come over later? To visit me at home?” He wondered.  
“Of course! He already said so. And why wouldn't he?” Mycroft asked.  
“Because of me. The case. My case. The more he discovers, the more disgusted he will be. It's a nightmare.” Sherlock stared out of the window.  
“He will come and see you. He might even bring dinner for all of us. And he won't ever find you disgusting.” Mycroft looked at him.  
“And what about you?” Finally, Sherlock turned to look at his older sibling.  
“Me? Of course not! You did what you needed to do to survive.” Mycroft tried to be reasonable.  
“No, I didn't fight. I was weak. I wasn't man enough to escape. I let him take me, bring me down. He made me do things, My, things I haven't even heard of before. He raped me and made me like it. He tortured me and I came. I call that weak.” Sherlock clung to the bear.  
“I know, you know what I like. Please don't ever think, I am like that. I am not. Like him. I have never been. Do you believe me?” Mycroft suddenly said blinking tears away.  
“I do believe you. You do love Greg. So do I. Do not hurt him. He deserves to be cherished.” Sherlock smiled seeing the tears in his brother's eyes.  
They arrived at Baker Street and the window were open.  
“Did you tell Mrs Hudson what happened?” Sherlock asked worriedly.  
“I have told her; you have been abroad on a case for me. Nothing else.” Mycroft replied.  
“Thank you, My.” They got out of the car and entered 221B. It smelled of cookies and cake and some more. Sherlock's stomach rumbled and he managed to get upstairs quickly. He opened the door to his flat and smiled.  
“Hudders!” He called out entering his place. His landlady turned around from arranging cookies on a plate.  
“Sherlock! Mr Holmes! You are back!” She hurried to embrace him and he gingerly hugged her tiny body back. Mycroft smiled. Sentiment. He shook his head and had a cookie.  
Then there were steps on the stairs and Greg entered.  
“Where is dinner?” Sherlock asked bluntly.  
“Excuse me?” Greg said entering the flat. Mrs Hudson looked at all of them.  
“Your boyfriend said, you'd bring food. But you didn't. I don't have any supplies.” Sherlock helplessly shrugged.  
“Boyfriend? Well, if he said so, he might call a delivery service.” Greg said sounding a bit angry. Finally, he closed the door and shed his jacket looking a bit stressed. Sherlock picked up on that and moved back against the wall and closer to Mrs Hudson. She saw him holding a teddy-bear but didn't comment on it, since she was used to his weird behaviour.  
“Well, if no one has food, I will go downstairs and cook something, right?” She shrugged and moved to the door, when it again was opened.  
“Hallo, everybody!” Molly Hooper stepped inside carrying bags.  
“Oh, so many of you. It might not be enough, but we'll see, right?” She smiled and carried everything into the kitchen. Sherlock at once followed and pulled out plates and everything.  
Mycroft moved over to Greg and gently hugged him.  
“I missed you...” He sighed into his ear.  
“So did I.” Greg replied.  
“I wished; you were there with me. I needed you.” Mycroft admitted.  
“It seems, you managed quite well.” Greg replied.  
“Of course I did. I always do. But it would have felt better.” He muttered moving away again.  
“Stay. Don't be stupid.” Greg said smiling and held on to him. Mycroft stopped but didn't look at Greg.  
“Look at me, please?” Greg said low voiced and moved his fingers over Mycroft's arm.  
“You took great care of your brother and my friend. And I wish, I had been there with you. But I had to write reports of you know what.”  
“Hm.” Mycroft made a weird sound.  
“And yes, I have heard about what you have done.” Greg seriously looked into his eyes.  
“It troubles you.” Mycroft said quietly after a few seconds. Carefully Greg looked over his shoulder, but Sherlock still was with Molly in the little kitchen.  
“Of course, it troubles me. As a Detective Inspector it sure does trouble me. But as a friend of Sherlock's it doesn't. As a friend of Sherlock's, it's not enough. But I know, I can't ever know about what is going to happen.” Sadly, he shook his head and then lowered it.  
Again, Mycroft had no idea what he was supposed to do. Was he allowed to touch him?  
“Oh, my love...” Greg said quietly and slung his arms around his waist. Mycroft was surprised. But he gave in and completely relaxed into Greg's embrace.  
“I should be the one holding you...” He murmured close to Greg's ear. Greg quietly laughed.  
“You are still learning and since I know you quite well, I am convinced it won't take long. Just do what you always do. Watch and observe.” He pecked a kiss on his long nose and let go.  
Mycroft exhaled slowly while Greg walked over towards the kitchen.  
“Molly, what did you bring?” Looking rather embarrassed she turned around to face him.  
“I wasn't sure what everybody liked, so I brought mainly things I know Sherlock likes.” She shrugged. Greg looked at everything provided and saw she was right. But how did she know?  
“He made me bring him things when he was hungry. Sometimes.” She blushed.  
“I called them our “midnight-morgue-snacks”.” She laughed a bit shrilly. Sherlock quietly disappeared.  
“You know, Molly, he is very happy about you being around. He also loves the bear you brought. The balloon is in his bedroom. You did just the right thing.”  
“I only heard of him having returned and being badly injured. I had no idea until I had read the file.” She swallowed and tears threatened to fall. Greg seriously looked at her.  
“Don't, Molly. Please, be strong for Sherlock. He needs you.” She once sobbed and fumbled for a tissue.  
“I remember all the things he told me. Sometimes he only murmured while doing his experiments. Mostly he talked about things having nothing to do with them. That's how I know all this. He was never talking to me, you see?” She helplessly shrugged.  
“He will now.” Greg simply answered.

***

Sherlock slowly disappeared from the kitchen to find his older brother who sat in his armchair by the fire-place. He sat on the arm-rest and slung his long and thin arm around his neck.  
Neither one spoke, but it wasn't necessary.  
“Hey, you two, come over here. Dinner will be served in a second.” Mycroft sighed wondering about the so-called dinner. But he stood and pulled Sherlock behind who rather hesitantly followed.  
Greg had set up the little kitchen-table for them and they all sat. Sherlock's wrung his hands beneath the table because he didn't know what to do. Was he allowed to take something? Was he supposed to ask for his food? And he started to sweat.  
“Sherlock, what would you like?” Molly gently asked placing her tiny hand on his arm. His head shot up and his eyes were wide open. He panted a bit but got a grip on himself while looking into her eyes. He cleared his throat.  
“I would like to have a slice of pizza, please.” And he was handed the slice while everyone else just put food on their plates. Sherlock realised how psychologically damaged he was.  
But with the help of everyone in this room and Mrs Hudson downstairs, he would make it. And perhaps he would be able to shove the memories of one Dr John Watson into the deepest basement of his mind-palace.


End file.
